An hour or two was passed in talking of the school and then Ellen came frankly to the point of Josey's want of candor, begging her, by what she had herself suffered, to turn from so wicked a habit, and try the beauties of sincerity and truth.
At first, Josey looked very angry, but for reasons of her own, did not wish to show it; and concealing her true feelings, urged her companion to visit her often.
"I should like to," was the frank reply, "I thought I could influence you to become good. If I had not been sent to a kind friend like Aunt Collins, I don't know what would have become of me."
"Well," said Josey, "I'll promise to do as you wish me, if you will grant me one favor. Don't tell anybody you have been to see me; or if you do, don't say what we have talked about."
Ellen mused for a moment.
"I always tell aunt everything," she said; "and she'll wonder where I've been. I'll promise not to tell unless I am asked; and certainly, I need not say what our conversation has been."
They parted, our young heroine sanguine as to the reformation of her former schoolmate.
[CHAPTER XII.]
LIES OF MALIGNITY.
IT was near a fortnight later that one evening Miss Granby, the teacher, called at Dr. Collins's. Ellen, who ran joyfully to the door to meet her, noticed that she was unusually grave.