"No. We used to live at the Bath when I was a child. Father was curate at the Abbey Church." "How much did he get?" "Twenty-five pounds a year." "That wasn't much for seven of you." "It was not," returned Phoebe, significantly. "What can you do?" asked Rhoda, suddenly. "Can you write poetry?" "I never tried, so I cannot tell," said Phoebe. "Can you sing?" "Yes." "And play on anything?" "No. I cannot do much. I can sew pretty well, and knit in four different ways; I don't cook much--I mean, I don't know how to make many things, but I always try to be nice in all I can do. I can read and write, and keep accounts." "Can you dance a jig?--and embroider, and work tapestry?" "No, I don't know anything of that." "Can't work tapestry! Why, Phoebe!" "You see, there never was any time," said Phoebe, apologetically. "Of course, I helped mother with the cooking and sewing; and then there were the children to see to, and I learned Perry and Kitty to read and sew. Then there were all the salves and physic for the poor folk. We could not afford much in that way, but we did what we could." "Well, I wouldn't marry a parson; that's flat!" said Rhoda. "Fancy spending all your days a-making salves and boluses! Fiddle-faddle!" Phoebe gave a little laugh. "I was not always making salves," she said. "Had you any pets? We have a parrot; I believe she's near as old as Madam. I want a monkey, but Madam won't hear of it." "We never had but one," said Phoebe, the quiver coming again into her voice, "and--it died." "What was it?" "A little dog." "I don't much care for dogs," said Rhoda. "Mrs Vane is the one for pets; that is, whenever they are modish. She carries dormice in her pocket, and keeps a lapdog and a squirrel. When the mode goes out, she gives the thing away, and gets something newer." "Oh, dear!" said Phoebe. "I could never give my friends away." "Oh, it is not always to friends," said Rhoda, misunderstanding her. "She gave one of her cats to a tailor at Tewkesbury." "But the creatures are your friends," said Phoebe. "How can you bear to give them away?" "Cats, and dogs, and squirrels--friends!" answered Rhoda, laughing. "Why, Phoebe, what a droll creature you are!" "They would be my friends," responded Phoebe. "I vow, I'd like to see you make a friend of Mrs Vane's Cupid!" exclaimed Rhoda, laughing. "He is the most spiteful little brute I ever set eyes on. He thinks his teeth were made to bite everybody, and his tail wasn't made to wag." "Poor little thing! I don't wonder, if he has a mistress who would give him away because it was not the mode to keep him." "I never saw a maid so droll!" said Rhoda, still laughing; "'twill never serve to be so mighty nice, that I can tell you. Why, you talk as if those creatures had feelings, like we have!" "And so they have," said Phoebe, warming up a little. "You are mightily mistaken," returned Rhoda.