“And so all those things are for the bazaar,” she said, by way of making a diversion. “Loo was to have worked you something, Miss Amelia, but Loo’s fingers are not so useful as they might be. She is a great deal too fond of dreaming; but I don’t think I was very fond of work myself when I was her age; and, of course, she has something in hand for Charley. A birthday would not be a birthday if the girls had not worked something for their brother; though men are such bears, as I sometimes tell Loo,” said poor Mary, beaming brightly out again from behind her cloud, “I don’t think they ever look twice at the purses and slippers we do for them. I suppose the great pleasure is in the doing, as it is with most other things.” “But I am sure you never found it so with dear Tom,” said Miss Laura; “he was always, from a boy, so pleased with what we made for him. Oh, do you remember those old braces, Laura?” cried Miss Lydia; “he always appreciates what is done for him—always,” and both the sisters chimed in in a breath. “I was not speaking of Mr Summerhayes,” said Mary, returning into the cloud; “I was speaking of—men in general. I have never had any perfect people to deal with in my experience,” said the mistress of Fontanel, with a sidelong, female blow, which she could not resist giving. “And now we must say good-bye, dear Miss Harwood; it is so pleasant to see you, and to come into this sheltered place where nothing ever seems to change.” “It is very odd,” said Miss Amelia, as she rose to shake hands with her visitors, “you people who are living and going through all sorts of changes, you like to come back to look at us old folks, and to say it is pleasant to see us immovable. I suppose it has all the effect of a calm background and bit of still life, as the painters say. Perhaps we don’t enjoy it so much as you do; we like to have something happen now and then for a little variety; we are often sadly at a loss, if you did but know it, for an event.” “Come back soon, my dear; that will be an event for us,” said Miss Harwood, whose soft old kiss was balm to Mary’s cheek, which had flushed and paled so often. Miss Laura and Miss Lydia went out to the door with their sister-in-law, where they took leave of her. “We meant to have driven on to the manor-house,” said Mary; “but we need not go now, since we have seen you; and there is no room in this stupid little carriage, or I would set you down anywhere. Good-bye! don’t forget the twenty-fifth!” and so she drove her ponies away. The sisters went off upon their usual round of calls, discussing her, while Mrs Summerhayes drove through the village. They were not exactly spiteful women, and they _did_ like poor Mary in their hearts: if she had been in trouble they would have rallied to her with all their little might; but they could not help being a little hard upon her now.