I, quite gravely, to my elder sister on entering the house; "Mrs. Philander Keeler will board me for two dollars and fifty cents per week:" and handed her the letter in pensive, though triumphant, confirmation of my words.
"When did you do this?" she gasped, and, before I could answer, "how are you going to get out of it?" she faintly demanded.
"Simply by getting into it, my dear," I answered, with that unyielding sweetness of demeanor for which I fancied I had ever been distinguished in the family circle.
I began to make my preparations for departure without delay.
Tender remonstrances, studied expostulations, were alike of no avail, and they helped me to pack, finally--those dear good people at home--putting as brave a face as they could upon it, and hoping for the best. My father assured my mother, though with trembling lip and tearful eye, that "God would temper the wind to the shorn lamb." I smiled at the part I was meant to play in this cheerful allegory, though it seemed to
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