ter. "I like to see her as she sits quietly at her work."
So Isabella went on learning what it was to be one of the family, and becoming, as Mrs. Lester remarked, a very experienced seamstress. She seldom said anything as she sat at her work, but seemed quite occupied with her sewing; while Mrs. Lester and Celia kept up a stream of conversation, seldom addressing Isabella, as, indeed, they had few topics in common.
One day, Celia and Isabella were sitting together.
"Have you always sewed?” asked Isabella.
"Oh, yes," answered Celia,—"since I was quite a child."
"And do you remember when you were a child?” asked Isabella, laying down her work.
"Oh, yes, indeed," said Celia; "I used to make all my doll’s dresses myself."
"Your doll's dresses!" repeated Isabella.
"Oh, yes,” replied Celia,—“I was not ashamed to play with dolls in that way.”
"I should like to see some dolls,” said Isabella.
"I will show you my large doll,” said Celia; “I have always kept it, because I fitted it out with such a nice set of clothes. And I keep it for children to play with.”
She brought her doll, and Isabella handled it and looked at it. with curiosity.
"So YOU dressed this, and played with it," said Isabella, inquiringly, "and moved it about as one would move a piece at chess?"
Celia started at this word "chess." It was one of the forbidden words. But Isabella went on:—
"Suppose this doll should suddenly have begun to speak, to move, and walk round, would not you have liked it?"
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Celia. "What! a wooden thing speak and move! It would have frightened me very much."
"Why should it not speak, if it has a mouth, and walk, if it has feet?" asked Isabella.
"What foolish questions you ask!” exclaimed Celia, "of course it has not life."
"Oh, life,—that is it!" said Isabella. "Well, what is life?"
"Life! why it is what makes us live,” answered Celia. “Of course you know what life is.”
"No, I don’t know,” said Isabella, "but I have been thinking about it lately, while I have been sewing,—what it is."
"But you should not think, you should talk more, Isabella," said Celia. "Mamma and I talk while we are at work, but you are always very silent."
"But you think sometimes?" asked Isabella.
"Not about such things," replied Celia. "I have to think about my work."
"But your father thinks, I suppose, when he comes home and sits in his study alone?"
"Oh, he reads when he goes into his study,—he reads books and studies them,” said Celia.
"Do you know how to read?" asked Isabella.
"Do I know how to read!" cried Celia, angrily.
"Forgive me," said Isabella, quickly, "but I never saw you reading. I thought perhaps—women are so different here!"
She did not finish her sentence, for she saw Celia was really angry. Yet she had no idea of hurting her feelings. She had tried to accommodate herself to her new circumstances. She had observed a great deal, and had never been in the habit of asking questions. Celia was disturbed at having it supposed that she did not know how to read; therefore it must be a very important thing to know how to read, and she determined she must learn. She applied to the Doctor. He was astonished at her entire ignorance, but he was very glad to help her. Isabella gave herself up to her reading, as she had done before to her sewing. The Doctor was now the gainer. All the time he was away, Isabella sat in his study, poring over her books; when
