So I opened it, and there lay two letters—real goodly-sized letters—one in Dick's hand, the other I did not know. Mr. Corbet explained to me that his mother had brought the one from London, and the other had been sent in a packet of Mr. Carey's to his friend in Exeter. I could hardly believe my eyes, and I am afraid my thanks were clumsily expressed. However, Mr. Corbet appeared satisfied, and, saying he knew I wished to read them, he withdrew. I had hardly time for more than a glance at them through the day, but I have feasted on them this night to my heart's content. One is from Dick, as I said; the other from my Aunt Willson, enclosing two gold pieces, and telling me that she had made the acquaintance of Mistress Corbet in London, who had kindly offered to carry a parcel for her: so she sent me a piece of fine lawn for kerchiefs and aprons, with some laces and other small matters. 'Tis a kindly letter, full of good counsel and sympathy, somewhat roughly expressed, as is Aunt Willson's fashion. She says, in conclusion: "Remember, child, to keep your place. Every man, woman and child is respectable in his own place, whatever that may be, for the time." Felicia also sends a note, written in rather a mournful strain. I can see that she has found trouble already, and I dare say she and aunt have had more than one battle. She warns me against expecting happiness in this world, as that is the lot of but few—certainly never of the dependent and the poor. But I don't know that. I am both poor and dependent, and I am reasonably happy—or should be, only for some things which have naught to do with my condition in life. As for poor Felicia, I don't believe her condition makes so much difference with her. She always makes me think of a speech of one of the old almswomen at Saintswell, about her daughter-in-law. The old woman had been saying somewhat about her daughter's fretting, when my mother remarked, "Ah, well, Goody, I would not disturb myself about the matter. You know poor Molly's way—if she had no trouble in the world, she would make it." "Mek it!" cried the old dame, in her shrill voice. "Mek it, madam—she'd buy it!"