"Make your mind easy, dear. I never would have done." "Do you know, Phoebe, Aunt Anne has offered to put me in the Maidens' Lodge?" "She talked of it," said Phoebe, pitifully. "I am not going there," responded Rhoda, in a decisive tone. "I'll go to service first. Perhaps, I can come down so much, away from here; but to do it here, where I thought to be mistress!--no, I could not stand that, Phoebe." "I am sorry you have to stand any of it, dear Rhoda." "You are a good little thing, Fib; I could not bear you to pity me if you were not. If Aunt Anne had but half your--" "Phoebe, where are you? Really, my dear, I am quite shocked at your negligence! Carry the young gentlewomen up to their chambers, and let Rhoda wait on them. I take it extreme ill you should have left them so long. Do, my dear, remember your position!" Remember her position! Phoebe was beginning to wish heartily that she might now and then be permitted to forget it. The four girls went upstairs together. "I say, Fib, did you ever shoot a waterfall in a coble?" inquired Molly. Phoebe felt safe in a negative. "Because I've heard folks say who have, that 'tis infinitely pleasant, when you come alive out of it; but then, you see, there's a little doubt about that." "I don't understand you, Mrs Molly." "No, my dear, very like you don't. Well, you'll find out when you've shot 'em. You're only a passenger; no blame to you if you don't come out alive." "Who's rowing, Molly?" asked Rhoda. "Somebody that isn't used to handling the oars," said Molly. "And if she don't get a hole stove in--Glad 'tis no concern of mine!" "How does Gatty now?" asked Rhoda. "O she is very well, I thank you," replied Betty. "Is she promised yet?" "Dear, no," said Betty, in a pitying tone. "Rank cruelty, only to think on it," said Molly. "She'll just come in, as pat as vinegar to lettuce, to keep you company in the Maidens' Lodge, my beloved Rhoda." Rhoda's lip trembled slightly, but she asked, quietly enough-- "Which is the vinegar?" Molly stood for a moment with her head on one side, contemplating Rhoda. "Been putting sugar to it, Fib, haven't you? Well, 'tis mighty good stuff to cure a cough." "Phoebe," said her mother that evening, when prayers were over, "I wish to speak with you in my chamber before you go to yours." Phoebe obeyed the order with a mixture of wonder and trepidation. "My dear, I have good news for you. I have chosen your husband." "Mother!"