Here my _Mother_ turned pale and trembled, which I never could bear to see; and I was going to urge _Prue_ and _Tom_, in a low Voice, to give up their Treat rather than foment a Family Quarrel, when I was called into the Shop, which prevented my knowing how the Matter ended. Presently _Tom_ went through the Shop, out of the House; and the next Time I could look into the Parlour, it was empty. _Prue_, however, was singing about the House, so I argued that Peace had been restored somehow; most likely by her giving up the Play. By-and-by she comes in all Smiles, and says, "I'll take up Mr. _Fenwick's_ Chocolate," and, before I could say a Word, took the little Tray out of my Hand and was off with it. I had forgotten all about this, when, some Time after, happening to go up Stairs for my Knotting-Bag, in passing the open Door of Mr. _Fenwick's_ Sitting-Room, I saw him and _Prue_ standing at the Window, their Backs towards me, in earnest Conversation; he holding her by the Hand, and she apparently in Tears. This gave me the oddest Feeling I ever had in my Life--I went up into my Room, sat down on the first Chair I came to, and could hardly turn my Breath. I could not think what had come over me! Presently I got up and tried to drink some cold Water, but could hardly get it down. It seemed to me as if I could not _think_; and yet there was a great, dull, dark, unwelcome Thought in my Head all the while! I leant my Head against the Wall; and having quieted myself a little, rose to go down Stairs. Just then, _Prue_ came in, and looked as if she had hoped to find the Room unoccupied. I said, "You've been crying, _Prue_!" She said, sharply, "No, I haven't!--and what if I had?"--I said, "Only that I should have been sorry to know that you were in Sorrow." She said, "Tears are shed for Joy, sometimes, as well as Sorrow, are not they?" "Certainly," said I; and turned away. "What _could_ make you think I had been crying, _Patty_?" says she hurriedly. "Well," I said, "I thought you might be vexed about the Play."--"The Play? oh, that was given up before _Tom_ went out," said she--"Of course it _did_ vex me, and I think it was unkind of my _Mother_ not to let me go." "You know her Motives are always kind," said I. "Well, of course I do," says she, still crossly, "but don't harp any more on such a disagreeable Subject. If you do, I shall run away from you." And away she ran. Then it was not the Play; then it was not about Anything connected with _Tom_, that had made her cry! I'd thought as much! "Tears are shed for Joy as well as for Sorrow," sometimes, though not very often. I sat down again, and turned my Face to the Wall, with my Head resting against it, and cried bitterly. Mine were Tears of Sorrow, not of Joy! [Illustration] CHAPTER XI. _The Old Angel._