"What a company must you be! How can you ever squeeze into the house?" "Oh, folks can squeeze into small corners when they choose," said Penuel Pardue, with a smile. "A very little corner will hold both Charity and Patience." "Then you haven't much of either," answered Friswith satirically. "Look you here, Pen!" And unrolling her ribbon, she displayed its crimson beauties. "What's that for?" "For my hat! You can tell Beatrice, if you like, she won't be the best-dressed maid at church next Sunday." "I should never suppose she would," was the quiet reply. "Oh, I saw her blue ribbons! But I'll be as grand as she, you'll see now. Mother sent me to buy her a coif, and I got this for the money too. Don't you wish you were me?" "No, Friswith, I don't think I do," said Penuel gravely. "That's because you think Mother will scold. I'll stand up to her if she do. She's always bidding us stand up to folks, and I'll see how she likes it herself a bit!" With which very dutiful speech, Friswith took her departure. Penuel looked after her for a moment, and then, with a shake of her head which meant more than words, turned back to Patience and the hymn. "Now, little Patience, try to learn the next verse. I will say it over to thee. "`And in the presence of my foes My table Thou shalt spread; Thou shalt, O Lord, fill full my cup, And eke anoint my head.'" "Who be my foes, Pen?" said Patience. "Folks that tease and trouble thee, my child." "Oh!" responded Patience, instantly making a practical application. "Toby and Silas, that is. But they didn't see you spread the table, Pen. They were out playing on the green." Penuel tried to "improve" this very literal rendering of the Psalm, but found it impossible to advance further than the awakening in Patience's mind an expectation of a future, but equally literal table, the dainties on which Toby and Silas would not be privileged to share. "I won't give them the lessest bit, 'cause they're my foes," said Patience stubbornly. "You shall have some, Pen, and so shall Beatie-- and Abbafull, if he's good. He tied my shoe." "Aphabell, not Abbafull," corrected Penuel. "But, Patience, that won't serve: you've got to forgive your enemies." "They shan't have one bit!" announced Patience, putting her hands behind her back, as if to emphasise her statement. "Pen, what does `anoint my head' mean?" "Pour oil on it," said Penuel. "I won't have oil on my head! I'll pour it on Silas and Toby. It'll run down and dirt their clothes, and then Mother Pardue'll thwack 'em." "Patience, Patience! Little maids mustn't want to have people thwacked." "I may want my foes thwacked, and I will!" replied Patience sturdily. "Look at the people coming up the road," answered Penuel, thinking it well to make a diversion. "Why, there's Master Benden and his mistress, and Mistress Hall, and ever so many more. What's ado, I marvel?"