"_I_ don't care," said Juliet, as she left the remains of the spoilt articles where they lay, and came up to the room. She was a strange-looking child, with brows knitted above her deep-set eyes, with a dark, pale skin, and dark untidy hair. "Ah, you've been at it again!" cried Mrs. Mitchell. "Well, it was my own fault to send you for it. You are the stupidest and awkwardest girl I ever come across." "Then, why _did_ you send me?" retorted Juliet. "I didn't want to go, I'm sure." "Hush, Juliet," interposed her father; "you must not speak so to your mother. Here is your aunt come from Littlebourne, and brought in the most splendid dinner." "I don't want no dinner," said Juliet. "Oh," said Mrs. Rowles very gently, "I thought you would help me dish it up." "I'm that stupid and awkward," said the girl, "that I should spill it and spoil it for you. If they'd let me go to a place I might learn to do better." "Who would take her?" Mrs. Mitchell appealed to her sister; "and she ought to help her own people before wanting to go out among strangers." "Yes, of course," replied Mrs. Rowles. "Everything is like charity, and begins at home." By this time the unwonted prospect of a really hearty dinner began to soften the stern Juliet, and her brows unknitted themselves, showing that her eyes would be pretty if they wore a pleasant expression. It seemed to Mrs. Rowles that life had latterly been too hard and sad for this girl, just beginning to grow out of the easy ignorance of childhood which takes everything as it comes; and a little plan began to form itself in the good woman's mind for improving Juliet's disposition and habits. Before the dinner was ready there was a loud noise of feet tramping upstairs. They were the feet of five more young Mitchells; and Amy's footsteps were very heavy, for she carried the baby. Albert, who was in the printing-office, did not come home to dinner. Though the plates and knives and forks were all out of order, and though an old newspaper acted as tablecloth, yet the meal was thoroughly enjoyed; even Mitchell ate some of the beans, with a boiled egg, and said that they put new life into him. Mrs. Rowles's own appetite was satisfied with a slice of cake and the brightening faces around her. Mrs. Mitchell gave a contemptuous glance at the mantle hanging on a nail in the wall, and took the baby on her knee and danced him about; and the little fellow burst into a chuckling laugh, and Thomas echoed it with a fainter and feebler one. At that precise moment there was a knock on the door. A voice said "May I come in?" and a little elderly lady put her head into the room. CHAPTER III. JULIET MITCHELL. "It is Miss Sutton. Come in, miss," said Mary Mitchell.