cheerful tale, he was wont to think that the Ragged School had been a blessing to them all.

So the February days wore away. The doctor was still a helpless invalid; Ada still dreamed on; and Aunt Emily and Jack talked over their mutual anxieties in private.

"I am sorry that I don't happen to be a few years older," said Jack. "You see Ada persists in treating me as a mere boy; and-and-there's Clariston coming and taking everything so coolly, while father lies ill up-stairs!"

"We don't know anything against Mr. Clariston," rejoined Mrs. Hurst, for the hundredth time at least.

"No; but, aunty, we can see very plainly that he is taking advantage of father's illness in a mean way."

Poor Aunt Emily could not contradict this assertion; and again and again did she pray that Dr. Fenway might be speedily restored to his children.

CHAPTER XVII.

"BAD

CRUEL AS THE GRAVE.

company," said St. Augustine, writing from sad experience, "is like a nail driven into a post, which, after the first or second blow, may be drawn out with very little difficulty; but, being once driven up to the head, the pincers cannot take hold to draw it out, which can only be done by the destruction of the wood." In the beginning, Ada's intimacy with the Granges might have been easily discontinued. If Aunt Emily's hints had been taken, and the doctor's desires respected, she might have spared herself great sorrow and bitter humiliation.

It may seem harsh to call the Granges bad company; yet bad they certainly were for Ada. Their lavish and ceaseless flattery had an ill effect upon her whole character. It was as the

friction of waves upon the cliff, wearing away the solid base. These people were inferior to herself in every respect; yet, instead of lifting them up to her higher ground, she was

"Lowered to their level day by day."

All friendships either lift us or cast us down; no mind that is brought into close proximity with ours can leave us quite the same as it found us; and Ada was fated to prove this truth in a bitter fashion. If she had been less inflated with vanity, there would have been room for self-questioning— room for wisdom and sober thought.

Mrs.

Almost unconsciously, she imbibed Grange's ill-will towards the Lynnes. George's story about the sisters was never again mentioned in her home. After hearing it, Ada had simply congratulated herself on not making their acquaintance; and then they would have dropped out of her thoughts altogether if Mrs. Grange had not incessantly abused them.

At last an incident occurred which drove the Granges almost to desperation.

On the last day of February Mr. Raydon gave an entertainment at the rectory. A distinguished

traveller and explorer had come to stay with him for a few days, and the Alderport people could talk of no one else. It was a large and busy town; but the traveller's fame was world-wide, and his coming made a great sensation. The rector, willing to give his acquaintances the pleasure of seeing this lion, resolved to invite as many as his drawing-room would hold. And his guest, more good-natured and approachable than lions usually are, volunteered to relate some of his own experiences to the company.

Mr. Raydon began by inviting all the clergy in the town; and then came the difficulty of making selections from the general Alderport public.

"I am almost sorry," he said to his wife," that we have arranged to give this entertainment. Some who are not asked will be mortally offended. But it is too late to repent."

66

"Well," replied Mrs. Raydon, equably, some people are always offended with everything. We will do the best we can. I have asked Miriam Lynne to help me in making the arrangements. I know she is secretly longing to meet Mr. Aubrey, and I mean to draw her out of her shell at last."

Mrs. Raydon was as good as her word. She had a genuine liking for Miriam, and found her a congenial companion. She put forth all her powers of persuasion, and enlisted Hester in her

cause.

Miriam was really wanted at the rectory, she argued it would be unkind to refuse.

The rector's wife gained her point, and Miriam was present at the entertainment. When Mr. Aubrey had done his part, she took her turn at the piano, with other ladies, and charmed all hearers. To please her friend, she consented to sing; her rich, clear voice, heard for the first time in an Alderport drawing-room, called forth a burst of applause, and she was overwhelmed with entreaties for another song. Yet this evening's pleasure was not unmingled with bitterness; the audience little guessed how the singer's heart was aching.

"Ah, Hester," she said afterwards, "while I was singing I forgot that I was a poor teacher! I was a happy girl again, at the manor-house, and Horace was listening-standing by my side. When I began to sing, the ghosts of old friends rose up around me, and the phantoms seemed