"I'm glad you have not forgotten your mother, Louis," said Miss Thusa, her countenance softening into an expression of profound sensibility; "she was a woman to be remembered for a life-time; though weak in body, she was a powerful woman for all that. When she died, I lost the best friend I ever had in the world, and I shall love you and Helen as long as I live, for her sake, as well as your own. I won't be unjust to anybody. _You've_ always been a good, respectful boy; and as for Helen, Heaven bless the child! she wasn't made for this world nor anybody in it. I never see a young flower, or a tender green leaf, but I think of her, and when they fade away, or are bitten and shrivelled by the frost, I think of her, too, and it makes me melancholy. When is the dear child coming home?" Before the conclusion of this speech, Mittie had risen and turned her burning cheek towards the window. She felt as if a curse were resting upon her, to be thus excluded from all participation in Miss Thusa's blessing, in the presence of Bryant Clinton. Yes, at that moment she felt the value of Miss Thusa's good opinion--the despised and contemned Miss Thusa. The praises of Helen sounded as so many horrible discords in her ears, and when she heard Louis reply that "Helen would return soon, very soon, with that divine little blind Alice," she wished that years on years might intervene before that period arrived, for might she not supplant her in the heart of Clinton, as she had in every other? While she thus stood, playing with a hop-vine that climbed a tall pole by the window, and shaded it with its healthy, luxuriant leaves, Clinton manifested the greatest interest in Miss Thusa's wheel, and the manufacture of her thread. He praised the beauty of its texture, the fineness and evenness of its fibres. "I admire this wheel," said he, "it has such a venerable, antique appearance. Its massy frame and brazen hoops, its grooves and swelling lines are a real study for the architect." "Why, I never saw those brazen rings before," exclaimed Louis, starting up and joining Clinton, in his study of the instrument. "When did you have them put on, Miss Thusa, and what is their use?" "I had them made when I took that long journey," replied Miss Thusa, pushing back the wheel with an air of vexation. "It got battered and bruised, and needed something to strengthen it. Those saucy stage drivers made nothing of tossing it from the top of the stage right on the pavement, but the same man never dared to do it but once." "This must be made of lignum-vitae," said Clinton, "it is so very heavy. Such must have been the instrument that Hercules used, when he bowed his giant strength to the distaff, to gratify a beautiful woman's whim."