"My dear Mrs. Mason," she began, "you do not know how great a load you have removed from my mind by taking Mary from the poor-house."
"I can readily understand," said Mrs. Mason, "why you should feel more than a passing interest in the sister of your adopted daughter, and I assure you I shall endeavor to treat her just as I would wish a child of mine treated, were it thrown upon the wide world."
"Of course you will," returned Mrs. Campbell, "and I only wish you had it in your power to do more for her, and in this perhaps I am selfish. I felt badly about her being in the poor-house, but truth compels me to say, that it was more on Ella's account than her own. I shall give Ella every advantage which money can purchase, and I am excusable I think for saying that she is admirably fitted to adorn any station in life; therefore it cannot but be exceedingly mortifying to her to know that one sister died a pauper and the other was one for a length of time. This, however, can not be helped, and now, as I said before I only wish it were in your power to do more for Mary. I, of course, know that you are poor, but I do not think less of you for that—"
Mrs. Mason's body became slightly more erect, but she made no reply, and Mrs. Campbell continued.
"Still I hope you will make every exertion in your power to educate and polish Mary as much as possible, so that if by chance Ella in after years should come in contact with her, she would not feel,—ahem,—would not,—would not be—"
"Ashamed to own her sister, I suppose you would say," interrupted Mrs. Mason. "Ashamed to acknowledge that the same blood flowed in her veins, that the same roof once sheltered them, and that the same mother bent lovingly over their pillows, calling them her children."
"Why, not exactly that," said Mrs. Campbell, fidgeting in her chair and growing very red. "I think there is a difference between feeling mortified and ashamed. Now you must know that Ella would not be particularly pleased to have a homely, stupid, rawboned country girl pointed out as her sister to a circle of fashionable acquaintances in Boston, where I intend taking her as soon as her education is finished; and I think it well enough for Mary to understand, that with the best you can do for her there will still be a great difference between her own and her sister's position."
"Excuse me, madam," again interrupted Mrs. Mason, "a stupid, awkward country girl Mary is not, and never will be. In point of intellect she is far superior to her sister, and possesses more graceful and lady-like manners. Instead of Ella's being ashamed of her, I fancy it will be just the reverse, unless your daughter's foolish vanity and utter selfishness is soon checked. Pardon me for being thus plain, but in the short time Mary has been with me, I have learned to love her, and my heart already warms towards her as towards a daughter, and I cannot calmly hear her spoken of so contemptuously."
During this conversation, Ella had remained listening at the keyhole, and as the voices grew louder and more earnest, Mary, too, distinguished what they said. She was too young to appreciate it fully, but she understood enough to wound her deeply; and as she just then heard Ella say there was a carriage coming, she sprang up the stairs, and entering her own room, threw herself upon the bed and burst into tears. Erelong a little chubby face looked in at the door, and a voice which went to Mary's heart, exclaimed, "Why-ee,—Mary,—crying the first time I come to see you!"
It was Jenny, and in a moment the girls were in each other's arms.