"Don't you mind my going, mamma?" she said at last, with a little accent of surprise.
"Well, Edith dear, papa and I think it will be such a good thing for you and for us all. You have been too young, of course, to be told about money matters, but perhaps I may tell you now, for I am sure you are old enough to understand, that papa has a great many expenses, and is often very much worried. There are so many of you," added the poor mother, thinking with a sigh of her own powerlessness to do much towards lifting the burden which pressed so heavily upon her husband's shoulders.
"Do you think it would help papa, then, if I went?" asked the girl slowly.
"Indeed I do. You would have a good home for a time, at all events; and if your Aunt Rachel should take to you, as we may hope she will if you earnestly try to please her, she may be a friend to you always."
"Very well, then; I shall try my best to do as you and papa wish."
That was all Edith said, and Mrs. Harley was quite surprised. She had expected tears and protests, stormy and passionate remonstrances—not this quiet submission so unlike Edith.
Perhaps no one understood the girl less than her own mother. It might have helped Mrs. Harley to know something of her daughter's inner nature if she could have seen her, after their talk together, steal quietly up to the nursery, where there were only the little ones at play, and, throwing her arms round little Francie, burst into a fit of quiet sobbing that fairly frightened the child.
"What is it, Edie? Don't cry, Edie! Francie'll give you a kiss, twenty kisses, if you won't cry," said the pretty baby voice.
"Your poor Edie's going away, and it will break her heart to leave you, my pet," said the girl through her tears, straining the child in a passionate embrace. Presently she grew calmer, and put the wondering little one down.
"There, Francie, I've done crying now, and you needn't mind. You'll always love Edie, won't you, if she does go away?"