It must be confessed that Mrs. Hollis and Jessie had a hard time of it while those wedding clothes were being made!

There was no time for anything, certainly not for cooking. They ate the cold Sunday joint as long as it lasted, and lived the rest of the week on bread and cheese, and Australian meat now and then.

Grace got up before four every morning, and there was not much peace in bed for any one after that.

Of course the shop had to be minded, and that Mrs. Hollis did, but she was expected to be at her needle at every spare moment; and for the needful cleaning and rougher work, Grace got a woman for a couple of hours who came cheap, because she did not bear a very good character. Mrs. Hollis did not much like having her about, but, as Grace said, one or other of them always had an eye upon her, and she was only there for a couple of hours in the morning.

It was lucky kettles could boil themselves, or there might not even have been tea, and as to going to Mrs. Somers's working parties, Grace declared it to be impossible.

"I've got something else to do," she said, decidedly. "The lady can't expect me to stand in my own light."

And when she saw Jessie on Friday evening put away her work and fetch her hat and books, she cried out against such idling, and said it must be given up.

"No," said Jessie. "I can't give up my Church and my preparation with Miss Manners."

"Nonsense! You see I've given up my working party."

"Yes; but I can't give up mine," said Jessie. "Oh, Grace, we thought so much about trying to do what we could."

"And so I am!" said Grace. "No one can say I am not doing my duty to my family, and that's better than throwing away my time on a lot of beggarly folk that don't deserve nothing. And you ought to know better, Jessie."

"I must have my lesson prepared," said she in return.

"As if you couldn't teach that there Bell girl without going to read with Miss Manners first! You'll never have those handkerchiefs done!"

"I did two letters extra this morning," said Jessie.

"Ah, that's very fine, but if you get one of your headaches——"

The sound of that word alarmed Mrs. Hollis. Jessie had had a bad illness about a year ago, and the mother could not part with her anxiety about her. In she came, with the tea-cup she was washing in her hand.

"Has Jessie got a headache?" she inquired.

"Oh no, mother, thank you. Grace is only putting a case."

"Yes; I am asking her what she thinks will become of the work if she is to go and take her pleasure whenever she likes. She talks of working extra; but supposing she had a headache, she'd be sorry she had thrown away her time."

"Dear, dear," said Mrs. Hollis; "'tis the very way to make her have a headache to keep her poor nose to the grindstone. The doctor, he says to me, 'She've had a shock, and she'll require care, and not to be overstrained.' And I tell you, Grace, I won't have Jessie put upon, and kept muzzing over her needle like a blackamoor slave, without a taste of fresh air. So run away, Jessie, and get your walk."

"Thank you, mother."

And Jessie, who did not feel bound to obey her sister, ran lightly off, hoping poor mother would not be very fiercely talked at by Grace. She herself was clear that work undertaken for God's sake should not be dropped when one's own gain began to clash with it; while Grace, who had always been held up as the model, helpful good daughter, plainly thought, "working for one's family," and securing something extra, was such a reason as to make it a sort of duty to throw over all she had taken up under the spur of that sermon in the spring. Jessie had no headache, but she was weary, vexed, and teased, and

The subject was next Sunday's Gospel, about the Great Supper and the excuse-making guests. Miss Manners read out part of Archbishop Trench's comment on the Parable before she talked to the teachers about what they were to say to their classes; and Jessie felt deeply that to let herself be engrossed by this undertaking, so as to allow no time for her religious duties, would be only too like the guests who went "one to his farm, and another to his merchandise." She was advised to make it a lesson to her class against false or insufficient excuses, such as saying they were late at school because mother wanted them to take a message, when they had dawdled all the way instead of hastening to school. Miss Manners lent the volume of Miss Edgeworth's Rosamond to Jessie, to read the chapter on Excuses to her girls, so as to bring home the lesson, though she was to carry it higher, and put them in mind that if they put their duties aside for these little things now, they would be learning to forget their Heavenly Master for earthly matters, and would never taste of His supper.

It made Jessie doubly and trebly determined that she would not take a lie-a-bed on Sunday morning to make up for loss of rest before, and thus miss the early Celebration on her monthly Sunday. Indeed, she felt drawn to come oftener, if it would not be presuming.

She came home from Church in the summer twilight, when even Grace could not work, and was standing a moment at the door before lighting the lamp.

"Well, miss, I hope you have wasted enough daylight," she said.

"I hope it wasn't quite wasted," said Jessie, cheerfully. "I shall work ever so much quicker for the rest I have had."

And she was as good as her word, and spent an hour in her pleasant embroidery of the pretty white letters of the name which she really delighted in doing, only she would have liked a fresh pattern instead of making all the seventy-two Ninas exactly alike.

She was at work before half-past six the next day, and had three more letters done before it was time to go to Miss Lee's, where it was a busy day of finishing work; and when at three o'clock the last stitch was put to the dress that had been made out of Mrs. Drew's cambric, Miss Lee asked Jessie to carry it home, suspecting that the walk would be good for her.

It was rather hot, but Jessie did enjoy the lanes, with their flowery banks, and the sweet smells of the hay, and she felt much brightened and refreshed. When she came near the house, she saw some one sitting in a basket-chair in the porch, and knew that it was Miss Needwood, a poor, sickly orphan relation of Mrs. Drew's, who was always trying situations as nursery governess, or reader, or the like, and leaving them because her health would not serve; and then she had no home to go to but Chalk-pit Farm. She was not so much above the Hollises as the farmer's own family, and was always friendly with them. She came to meet Jessie, shook hands with her, and explained that Mrs. Drew had been summoned to speak about some poultry, but would return in a moment if Miss Hollis would sit down.

"Are you stopping here for long?" asked Jessie.

"I don't know," said the poor girl, sadly; "I hoped I was settled in a nice situation; but my asthma was bad there, and the lady found it out, and it made her nervous, so here I am again. Mr. Drew, he is kind, and says I may make myself useful with teaching the children; but oh, dear! I don't know enough for that."

"I thought you had gone out for a nursery governess."

"Yes"—the tears came in her eyes;—"but I'll never try again. The elder young ladies made game of my French, and said I didn't spell as well as the little nursery girl. And it was true, Miss Hollis. I tried being a sewing-maid last, though Mrs. Drew didn't want folk to know it; but, you see, I hadn't health for that. They are very good here, and will keep me; but I am nothing but a burthen. If I could but hear of something to do—if only to keep me in clothes. I can do fancy-work, if I could get any."

"Can you embroider?" asked Jessie.

Miss Needwood took out her pocket-handkerchief, where her initials, H. N., were beautifully worked. Jessie had admired her own work, but this was much better. It was just such an N as she wanted, and she exclaimed—

"If you would be so kind as to lend me one of those for a pattern, I should be so much obliged."

"Do you embroider?" asked Miss Needwood. "I wish you could tell me if there is any shop at Ellerby or Carchester that would employ me; I should be so much happier."

Here Mrs. Drew came back, and looked over the dress which was to be sent to her daughter at her boarding-school, and thanked Jessie, and gave her the money for Miss Lee.

Miss Needwood had fetched the handkerchief, and Jessie took leave and walked home, thinking over what shops might possibly employ the poor girl. What a pity she had not those handkerchiefs to do, and why should she not do some of them?

Oh, Grace would never consent. Besides, Jessie had spent her 4l. 16s. in fancy already on the Offertory, savings bank, a present for mother, a pair of spectacles for old Dame Wall, a pretty new dress and hat for herself. Oh no, she must work on; it was such pretty work, and Grace would scorn her so if she gave up any part of it.

Jessie came home to find Mrs. Hollis in all the hard work and worry of a Saturday evening, alone in the shop, with people waiting and getting cross. She had to hasten behind the counter and help as fast as she could. It was well that the Lees had given her a cup of tea when she brought in the money, for there was no quiet for more than an hour, and then the fire was found to have gone out while Grace was putting in gathers. Moreover, Jessie saw, with dismay, that the beefsteak-pie, which was to serve for the morrow, was not even made.

"Oh, I'll do that to-morrow morning," said Grace.

And when Jessie proceeded to tack in her clean collar and cuffs, Grace called out, raising her hot face from her work, that they might be pinned in on Sunday morning; it was only waste of time to do so now.

"I don't think that is using Sunday quite well," said Jessie.

"Well, I never heard there was any harm in sticking in a pin of a Sunday! Come, sit down, do, and don't keep fiddling about. You'll be behind with those handkerchiefs. Here, mother, you can finish this seam before dark."

"The place is in such a caddle," said poor Mrs. Hollis, looking ruefully round at her kitchen, which certainly did not wear at all its usual Saturday evening's aspect. "That Jenny Simkins, she do so stabble in and out, she only wants some one to clean after her."

"Oh, well, I'll see to that," said Grace, "when it gets too dark for work. One must put up with a little for such a chance as this."

Jessie felt that her poor mother was putting up with more than a little, as she saw her sit down with a sigh and try to thread her needle by the window. Jessie went across and did it for her, and put back the muslin blind so as to let in more light; then sat down to finish the "na" of her sixth Nina, rather wearily, and with an uncomfortable thought that Miss Needwood's satin-stitch looked better than her own.

Little "n" was done before the twilight tidying, which did not amount to much, for Grace soon lighted the lamp; but Jessie, in putting up the shop shutters, made the arm, which had once been crushed, tremble so much that she could not work without pricking her finger, and Mrs. Hollis really could not see. So Grace let them both go to bed, and Jessie half waked to hear her bustling about, and coming up herself just after the clock struck twelve. She would not have set a stitch on any account after that!

Jessie was up early enough to light the fire, and set out the breakfast things, and put on the kettle, while both her mother and Grace were still in bed. She had a peaceful, happy time then, but otherwise she had never known such an uncomfortable Sunday.

Mrs. Hollis was down when she came back, but was fretting over the very large bit that had gone out of the cheese. Jessie thought they had eaten it for want of meat; her mother suspected Jenny Simkins. Then she had not been allowed time to copy out her accounts into the book, and there had been a great puzzle between a three and a five on the slate last night, which seemed to have been worrying her all night in her dreams; and the uncleaned look of the house vexed her. She was tired and not like herself, and Jessie only left her for school and church on hearing Grace's step on the stairs.

At school she could forget all about it in the interest of teaching, but the worry returned when her mother's place was empty at the beginning of the service; and when Mrs. Hollis did come posting in at the end of the Venite, she was so hot and panting that she had to sit down and fan herself with her pocket-handkerchief all through the Psalms, and Jessie even feared she might be going to faint.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Hollis mourned, when they came out of church, "she had never been so upset before, but she had been so put about to get off, with none of her things ready, and she was that tired and sleepy she had not heard a word of the sermon. Grace really had undertaken too much. The house was in such a mess there was no sitting down quiet and respectable, and there was threepence in the till that would not be accounted for, and she was sure that the cheese was going too fast." She fretted all the way home, and Jessie could not comfort her, by promising to look over the accounts the first thing on Monday.

However, on coming home they found the whole house tidied, dinner laid, the pie made and just ready to come out of the Dutch oven, and the accounts balanced and written out fairly. Grace was just finishing the arraying herself in full Sunday trim outside, but how was it with the inner Sunday raiment of her heart?

She did nothing but talk about "seam and gusset and band," and how fast she was getting on, and how good the linen was, and what sort was the best, till Jessie thought she might almost as well have been sewing all day as with her thoughts running on nothing else.

When Jessie went to afternoon school, both Mrs. Hollis and Grace were so tired that the one went to sleep in her chair, and the other on her bed; and thus Jessie found them on her return.

Poor mother! how weary and worn her face looked after this week of worry. The sight of it settled Jessie's mind. She went up softly to take off her things, and as she was doing so, Grace awoke. Jessie went up to her and showed her Miss Needwood's cipher.

"Bless me! whose is that? It is real genteel," said Grace.

"It is Miss Needwood's at Chalk-pit Farm."

"What! that poor helpless thing that never can keep a situation! Did you get it for a pattern, Jessie?"

"Yes," said Jessie; "she lent it to me."

"It is beautiful," said Grace, examining it minutely. "You ought to work like that, Jessie."

"I would if I could," said Jessie, "and I mean to try; but, Grace, I shall only finish this first dozen. I shall send the other five dozen to Bessie Needwood. She is in great want of work, and will do them much better than I."

"Well I never!" cried Grace. "I never thought you'd turn lazy, and give up what you had undertaken—when I had asked for the handkerchiefs on purpose for you, because I thought a little pocket money would come in convenient!"

"So it would. It was very kind of you, Grace; but Miss Needwood will do them better than I."

"Not than you if you chose to take the pains and trouble."

"No," said Jessie, "if I don't hurry them too quick to try to do those finest stitches, I sha'n't have time to do them at all, in these after hours of mine."

"Well, that you should choose to confess yourself not able to do as well as a poor dozing thing like that! It's all laziness."

"No, that it is not," said Jessie, rather hotly. "I thought if those were off my hands I could help you, and then mother need not have any of this work to do, or be so driven and put about."

"You don't expect to be paid for any part of mother's work," said Grace, with some sharpness. "I've got my own use for that in the business."

"No, I don't!" and Jessie went suddenly off in a little bit of temper for which she was sorry afterwards, wishing she had said that her real reason—besides the helping Miss Needwood—was the hope to save her mother from being over driven, and not to have another Sunday so cumbered with worldly matters.

Grace came down to tea grumbling, and appealing to her mother about Jessie's laziness; and Mrs. Hollis, for whose sake the girl had resigned five-sixths of her hoped-for gain, was inclined to be vexed at any of the work going out of the family, or her Jessie allowing herself to be beaten.

It was very vexatious, and Jessie was glad when Uncle Andrew dropped in to tea, and to change the current of their thoughts.

She was to stay at home to guard the house while the others went to evensong, and this gave her the quiet opportunity of packing up five dozen handkerchiefs, and writing a note to send with them to Bessie Needwood the first thing in the morning, by any child who came early to the shop.

Then she felt much more at ease, and was able to have a comfortable study of her next Sunday's Gospel and its references, in case she should be too busy on the week days; and so she was peaceful and refreshed, and able to enjoy a quiet little wander in the twilight garden with her hymn-book. This lasted till the others came home, brim full of reports they had picked up about the splendour of the coming wedding. The gentleman, Mr. Holdaway, was staying at Newcorn Park, and, what was more, he had sent his horses and grooms down to the Manners Arms, because the stables at the Chequers were not well kept.

The head groom had actually been at Church, and looked quite the gentleman, though to be sure he did stare about wonderfully.

Mrs. Hollis shook her head, and said no good came of that sort of folk.