She told her how, though the lives of these women of old were only known to us through some striking glorious deed, they yet must have built up the temple of their perfection by many noiseless stories; how, by small daily offerings laid on the altar, they must have obtained their beautiful strength for the crowning sacrifice.

And then she would turn and speak of those whose names will never be blazoned on earth--some poor maid-servant, or hard-worked artisan, or weary governess--who have gone on through life quietly, with holy purposes in their hearts, to which they gave up pleasure and ease, in a soft, still, succession of resolute days.

She quoted those lines of George Herbert's: "All may have, If they dare choose, a glorious life, or grave." And Maggie's mother was disappointed because Mrs.Buxton had never offered to teach her "to play on the piano," which was to her the very head and front of a genteel education.

Maggie, in all her time of yearning to become Joan of Arc, or some great heroine, was unconscious that she herself showed no little heroism, in bearing meekly what she did every day from her mother.

It was hard to be questioned about Mrs.Buxton, and then to have her answers turned into subjects for contempt, and fault-finding with that sweet lady's ways.
When Ned came home for the holidays, he had much to tell.