Ella had been obliged to stay away from school for several days to nurse her grandmother, who seemed suddenly to have grown very feeble.
Mrs. Snowden called to see her constantly, and many were the dainties which found their way from the Hall to the humble lodgings where Mrs. Russell and Ella had now taken up their abode.
"There is one thing I want to ask you, Ella dear," said Mrs. Snowden next, and her voice was very sweet and tender as she spoke. "Has your Grannie forgiven you yet?"
"No, I—I don't think so." The answer came out with a long-drawn sob.
"Poor little girl! I'm so sorry," said the lady, who knew that Ella's penitence for her disobedience was very deep and real. "But for Marcia and her monkey this sad business would never have happened," she went on. "You're a brave little maid, Ella, and I feel sure it will all come right by and by."
"Oh, I'm not brave a bit," cried the child despondingly; "sometimes I feel so cross and unhappy. I don't know what father will think of me when he comes home."
"Ella," said Mrs. Snowden, "I am going to tell you a little story, or legend, which perhaps may help you over your troubles a bit. Would you like to hear it?"
Ella's face brightened. Somehow Mrs. Snowden's visits always did her good.
"Yes, very much," she said earnestly.
"Well, so far as I can remember, the legend runs thus—