IN the pleasant breakfast-room, which was also a schoolroom, the two girls were left by Aunt Mary, while she gave some orders on household matters. Everything was arranged here with order and neatness, but there was nothing superfluous; there was a place for everything, and everything seemed to be in its place, if we except a large quantity of unbleached calico, which had been unrolled, and had spread itself upon the floor.

'What is all that coarse stuff for?' inquired Mabel of her cousin. 'You surely don't call that your work, do you, Clara? I brought some embroidery with me, for I hate plain work. I hope aunt will not set me to do any.'

'I am quite sure she will, though,' replied Clara; 'and this very day, too; for she is going to cut out two night-shirts for the poor man we are going to see, and we shall have to make them, as well as pinafores for the children, and flannel petticoats for two old women who are in Aunt Mary's district. Oh, such nice old dames they are, Mabel! I am sure you will like them, dear; and they are so thankful for any little kindness we do for them.'

'Such stupid, humdrum work!' exclaimed Mabel. 'I'm sure I shall be miserable here. Hard lessons, coarse work, and looking after old and sick people! I wonder you are not moped to death, Clara; it's even worse than I thought it would be.'

'Well, wait a little while,' said patient Clara; 'you have had no experience yet. I know very well you will alter your mind before six months are over.'

'Six months!' exclaimed Mabel; 'why, I should be dead in that time, if mamma suffers me to remain here. But I shall tell her all about it, and beg her to let me go home.'

The entrance of Aunt Mary broke off the dialogue of the cousins, and soon the obnoxious calico was spread out, and fashioned into useful articles of wearing apparel.

'Here is your new workbox, my dear Mabel,' said her aunt; 'you will find it stocked with all necessary things—thimble, and scissors, and needles, and cotton—and all that I require of you is to keep it tidy.'

It was impossible for Mabel not to dismiss some, at least, of her foolish prejudice against this kind friend, and the thanks she returned for the really handsome present were hearty and genuine; and on fitting on her thimble, and examining the bright scissors and the very pretty needle, even her feelings respecting the coarse work on which they were expected to be employed appeared to undergo a wonderful change.

'I can't do plain work very quickly, aunt,' said Mabel, when that lady had given her a pair of sleeves to make; 'I never did much at home.'

'All right, my child; if you do your best, I promise you I shall be satisfied. I know you will improve in time,' said Aunt Mary, kindly.

There was no reading this morning, because Clara and Aunt Mary, who were both rapid seamstresses, had agreed, if possible, to finish the night-shirt that had been cut out, and take it with them in the evening, when they went to call at the cottage of poor Simmons, whom they had not seen since their return home, but of whom they had learned from Bridget a pretty satisfactory account. The good woman had taken them under her especial care while her mistress was away.

There was no lack of pleasant conversation when Aunt Mary was in the room, and the work progressed well during the morning hours; but, unfortunately, about three o'clock in the afternoon some friends came to call, and as it was evident to Miss Livesay that this would prevent their visit to the cottage that evening, she bade the young people put away their work, and try to find some amusement in the garden. Clara felt sorry and disappointed at this postponement, though she said nothing, but prepared to obey her aunt. With Mabel, however, this was quite an unexpected pleasure, and so rapidly did she gather up her work, without folding it neatly together, that the needle ran into her finger, and brought the blood so quickly that two or three large spots were deposited on the sleeves.

'Oh, aunt will be so cross when she sees what I have done!' said the too hasty Mabel. 'Must I try to wash the spots out, Clara?' she inquired.

'No, no!' replied her cousin; 'Bridget will do that for you with a little brush. But I wonder, Mabel,' she added, 'at your thinking dear aunt would be cross because you have had an accident. You seem to have some very strange ideas in your head; you will know better soon, I hope.'

The room was quickly cleared, and Clara, taking the soiled sleeve in her hand, went with her cousin into the kitchen, where they found the tidy servant-of-all-work already clean, and sitting comfortably with her knitting in hand, and the cat on her knee. Bridget readily undertook the task required of her; and the young people, having obtained the food for the poultry, ran off to distribute it.

A capital house Clara's feathered family had, with no rent nor taxes to pay. It was a long shed under the tall trees at the bottom of the garden, boarded over at the top, but with wire-work all across the front, where a door was made to go in at, in order to clean out the floor.

Inside, it was the picture of comfort, and of cleanliness too, for careful Bridget took care of that. Old Netty and her chicks had a place to themselves—a house within a house—so that the little ones could not make an escape.

'Oh, I see there are two new-laid eggs,' said Clara. 'I am so glad; we can take them to poor Simmons when we go to-morrow. I dare say there are two or three more in the house that I may have.'

'I thought you said the fowls were your own, to do what you liked with,' said Mabel. 'If I were you, I should sell the eggs, and not give them away,' she added.

'And what should I do with the money?' inquired Clara. 'I have everything I want; aunt takes care of that.'

'But you might buy nice gloves and neckties with the money you would get for the eggs,' urged Mabel. 'I don't see that you have much of that sort of thing.'

'I have all that I want in that way,' replied her cousin. 'I would ten times rather give away the eggs than take money for them. When I first came to live with dear aunt, she had this place fitted up on purpose for me; and she bought the fowls, and food, and everything that was wanted,' said Clara. 'In three months' time I had a beautiful brood of chickens; and when they were grown, aunt asked me what I meant to do with my surplus stock. I said that I really did not know; so she suggested that I should sell the chickens, and give the money to the poor. "Sell that ye have, and give alms," said my aunt. "This, dear Clara, is our Saviour's advice," she added, and I was only too glad and thankful to follow her advice. So I made a purse, in which I save up my egg-and-chicken money, and we buy calico, and print, and flannel, and provide other things,' said Clara, in great glee, for it was, indeed, one of her chief sources of pleasure to give to the poor.

'I'm sure you would not catch me doing in that way,' said Mabel. 'I see no fun in keeping fowls only for the sake of giving to other people.'

'No fun, perhaps,' replied her cousin; 'but you would find real pleasure, Mabel, in being able to relieve the wants of the sick and the afflicted. Oh, I know,' she added, 'you will—you must change your mind when you go with us to some of the neighbouring cottages. I do hope we shall not be prevented from going to-morrow.'

Whatever effect time and scenes were to have on our young friend Mabel, certainly her cousin's arguments and declarations produced none at the present; so we must close the chapter of the first day, and begin another.