CHAPTER XVII.
Mrs. Grey knew perfectly well, that the task of training Gabrielle would be a most self-denying one. Those who never felt the sweet pain of putting self down in order to help a human soul to rise, have only touched life on the surface; have never been down into its depths; she had. So it was cheerily she entered upon this new labor of love, throwing her heart into it without a thought as to how her own interests were to be affected by this invasion of her home.
Gabrielle was fourteen years old, and as her mother had never done much thinking for her, had acquired a habit of thinking for herself. During the first few weeks of her stay at Greylock, her grandmother let her drift pretty much as she pleased, studying her, meanwhile, and seeking wisdom from above. The child fancied this state of things was going to last, and was well content. As the spring opened early, and was a very warm one, she adopted a hammock that swung on the piazza as her pet luxury, and there she lay during a large part of the day, reading novels. In the pang of parting with her, Frank thoughtlessly gave her more money than any child should be entrusted with, and she, consequently, laid in a stock of unwholesome dainties, which she fed upon while reading. Very soon this effeminate life began to tell. She woke with a headache, was peevish and irritable about nothings, and at times had a "dumb devil," when it was next to impossible to get a word out of her. It was evidently time to take her in hand, which Mrs. Grey did, on this wise.
"My child," she said, kindly, "have I done anything unkind to you since you came here?"
"I don't know's you have."
"Well, you speak to me as if I had. So I think you can't be well. How much exercise did you take yesterday?"
"Not any; I was tired."
"And how much the day before?"