"Well, my dears—I must learn to say young ladies, I suppose, now you are at home in England," said Mrs. Thorpe, knocking and entering at the same moment. "But, laws me, it does come so easy to me to mother all young girls for the sake of my own two—I suppose you are quite ready for your suppers. Will you join us at the table, or shall I send you something up here?" "Oh, we will go to the table," answered Amabel; "and, dear Mrs. Thorpe, I am sure we shall be only too glad to be mothered, as you say. We are all ready, if you please." "Please, Mrs. Thorpe, who is that lady below in the shop?" I ventured to ask as we descended the stairs. "Is she a sister?" "No, she is not a sister, but a Friend," answered Mrs. Thorpe, smiling. "She is what people call a Quaker. Have you none in France?" "I do not know," replied Amabel; "we know not much more about France than England." "Ah! Yes, that is true. Well, the Friends are a people by themselves, and have their own ways and notions—very odd ones, too, some of them are. They never go to church, and have no sacraments, and no settled order of clergy, but they hold by the Bible, and are very good, honest kind of people. Some of their women, even, are ministers, like Rebecca Carter's sister. Rebecca is a good creature, and very faithful to me, but she has her ways, as who has not? You must not mind if she calls you by your plain, Christian names. That is a part of her religion." At another time, I suppose all this would have surprised me very much, but the last two or three weeks had been so full of wonders that I was beginning to lose the power of being surprised at anything. We followed Mrs. Thorpe into a kind of back-parlor, or better-most kitchen, I don't know just which to call it, where the table was set for several persons. Mrs. Thorpe placed Amabel and myself on either side of her, at the head of the table. She then rang a little hand bell, and two or three neat looking young women came in from another room, and took their places near the foot of the board. Mrs. Thorpe said grace, and Amabel and I crossed ourselves, as we had always been used to do. I saw one of the girls glance at another and smile contemptuously. Unluckily, Mrs. Thorpe saw it too. "Betty Humble will leave the table," said she. Betty colored furiously, and began to stammer some excuse, but Mrs. Thorpe made an imperative gesture, which sent Betty out of the room, bursting into tears as she shut the door behind her with more force than was quite needful. I felt sorry for the girl, though I had felt my cheeks burn the moment before, and I glanced at Amabel, rather hoping she would intercede for the banished Betty; but she said not a word, nor did anything in her face show that she was at all disturbed.