"No," Aunt Agatha repeated, in the old pitying voice I knew so well,
"you cannot be even a nursery governess, Merle."

"Nor a companion either," I exclaimed bitterly. "Old ladies want letters
written for them."

"That is very true," she replied, shaking her head.

"I could be a nurse in a hospital--in fact, that is what I should like,
but the training could not be afforded, it would be a pound a week, Aunt
Agatha, and there would be my uniform and other expenses, and I should
not get the smallest salary for at least two or three years."

"I am afraid we must not think of that, Merle," and then I relapsed into
silence from sheer sadness of heart. I had always so longed to be
trained in a hospital, and then I could nurse wounded soldiers or little
children. I always loved little children.

But this idea must be given up, and yet it would not have mattered in a
hospital if I had spelt "all-right" with one "l." I am quite sure my
bandages would have been considered perfect, and that would have been
more to the point.

(_To be continued._)




THE AMATEUR CHURCH ORGANIST.