Elsie was alone in her own apartments one afternoon, an hour or more after
dismissing her pupils to their play, when Zoe came to her with flushed
cheeks, quivering lips, and eyes full of tears.
"What is wrong with you, my dear little daughter?" Elsie asked in tender,
motherly tones, as she looked up into the troubled face.
"O mamma, I don't know what to do! I wish you could help me!" cried Zoe,
dropping upon her knees at Elsie's feet, and hiding her face on her lap,
the tears falling fast now, mingled with sobs.
"Only tell me what is wrong, dear, and you shall have all the help I can
give," Elsie said, smoothing the weeper's fair hair with soft, caressing
hand.
"Edward is vexed with me," sobbed Zoe. "I know he is, though he didn't say
a word; but he looked so grave, and walked away without speaking."
"Perhaps he was not vexed with you, dear; it may have been merely that he
was deep in thought about something that had no connection with the little
wife, whom, as I very well know, he loves very dearly."
"No, mamma, it wasn't that; he had come in to hear me recite, and I was so
interested in my fancy work that I'd forgotten to watch the time and
hadn't looked at the lessons.
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