Mrs. Ellsworthy had by no means forgotten the girls—they had all three taken her fancy, and, as she said to her husband, she could not get them out of her head. Arthur Noel, who was a sort of adopted son of the house, often now brought her information about her favorites, but the good little lady was impatient to see the girls herself, and felt much annoyed at not being able to induce Arthur to give her their address.

"I don't want them to succeed," she said, talking one day to the young man. "I have plenty of money, more than I really know what to do with, and I particularly want to spend some of it on these girls. If they succeed in what they are about they won't want my money, and of course that is the last thing I wish. If I cannot adopt all three, why at least can I not have Jasmine?—Jasmine is my favorite, although I love that little pet Daisy too. Arthur, you may talk to me from morning to night, but you will never persuade me but that Jasmine is the sort of girl who would shine better in prosperity than in adversity."

"You cannot take her from her sisters," said Noel; "I do not believe you would get her to leave them—but if you were to try and were to succeed, you would certainly lower her character, and having done this, you could not say she would be a better girl in prosperity than in adversity."

"You are so particular, Arthur," half grumbled Mrs. Ellsworthy; "you must have forgotten your own very poor days, or you would not speak so warmly for adversity."

"I don't quite forget them," said Arthur, a cloud coming over his face, which was a particularly bright one. "I have a dim memory about them, and a very, very dim memory about a mother and an old nurse, who loved me very much. I can just recall crying night after night for my mother, and being beaten, and silenced, and half starved. Then I suppose I was ill, for I know there is a blank which I never can fill up; but I shall always remember that day when I stood in the snowy street, and cried so bitterly, and tried to ask for pennies, and how my hat blew off, and I ran to catch it, and then—"

"Oh, it was horrible!" said Mrs. Ellsworthy, covering her face with her hands. "I shudder at it even now—the coachman could not keep the horses in, and they went over you, and we thought you were killed. You were lifted into the carriage—such a ragged, thin little figure, with such a lovely face. You came to—you were not so badly hurt—it was nothing short of a miracle, for you ought to have been almost killed. My brother Arthur was with me, and when you opened your eyes you stretched out ............