Even Louis could scarcely keep up with her rapid strides. He trembled for the consequences of her anger, just as it was, and followed close to see if Mittie, undaunted as she was, did not shrivel in her gaze. Mittie was seated in a window, busily studying, or pretending to study, not even turning her head, though Miss Thusa's steps resounded as if she were shod with iron. "Look round, Miss, if you please, and tell me if you know any thing of this," cried Miss Thusa, laying her left hand on her shoulder, and bringing the ball so close to her face that her nose came in contact with it. Mittie jerked away from the hand laid upon her with no velvet pressure, without opening her lips, but the guilty blood rising to her face spoke eloquently; though she had a kind of Procrustes bed of her own, according to which she stretched or curtailed the truth, she had not the hardihood to tell an unmitigated falsehood, in the presence of her brother, too, and in the light of his truth-beaming eye. "You are always accusing _me_ of every thing," said she, at length. "I didn't do it----all;" the last syllable was uttered in a low, indistinct tone. "You are a mean coward," cried the spinster, hurling the ball across the room with such force that it rebounded against the wall. "You're a coward with all your audacity, and do tricks you are ashamed to acknowledge. You've spoiled the honest earnings of the whole winter, and destroyed the beautifullest suit of thread that ever was spun by mortal woman." "I can pay you for all I spoiled and more too," said Mittie, sullenly. "Pay me," repeated Miss Thusa, while the scorching fire of her eye slowly went out, leaving an expression of profound sorrow. "Can you pay me for a value you can't even dream of? Can you pay me for the lonely thoughts that twisted themselves up with that thread, day after day, and night after night, because they had nothing else to take hold of? Can you pay me for these grooves in my fingers' ends, made by the flax as I kept drawing it through, till it often turned red with my blood? No, no, that thread was as dear to me as my own heart strings--for they were twined all about it; it was like something living to me--and I loved it in the same way as I do little Helen. I shall never, never spin any more." "You will spin more merrily than ever," cried Louis, soothingly, "you see if you don't, Miss Thusa." Miss Thusa shook her head, and though she almost suffocated herself in the effort to repress them, tears actually forced themselves into her eyes, and splashed on her cheeks. Seating herself in a low chair, she took up the corner of her apron to hide what she considered a shame and disgrace, when Helen glided near and wiped away the drops with her own handkerchief.