"Yes, indeed she was, dear old soul!" "And is not Miss McPherson one, and Miss Jessy, and my father, and Alice?" "Very true, my dear, not to mention yourself. As to Miss Druett, if any one can tell what she is, they must be wiser than I am." "Miss Druett is good to you, isn't she?" "Yes, in a kind of way. She is so sharp and sarcastic that she puts me in a rage ten times a week; but everything good that I get comes through her." "Well, wouldn't she do something for you in this matter?" "Very likely she would if she could, but she can't. I told her this morning that I wanted some new frocks, and she said she would get me some if possible, but that I must not speak to Aunt Priscilla about it. I tell you, Mary, you have no idea what she is in one of her bad moods. It is like living with a wild animal or an evil spirit." "The more reason why you should qualify yourself to earn your own living as soon as possible. But there is the bell. By the way, will you go to Aunt Hannah's with me after school? I have to carry her a message about the towels she is weaving for Alice." Aunt Hannah Parvin and her sister, Aunt Betsy, lived in a curious old wooden house on the outskirts of the town. "Come in, come in," said Aunt Betsy. "I suppose, Mary, thee has come about the yarn; and who is this with thee? I ought to know her, but I can't call her by name." "Surely it is Richard Stanfield's daughter," said Aunt Hannah, appearing at the door. "I never saw a greater likeness between a father and child. Come in, children. I have been expecting thee, Mary." Aunt Hannah, though the younger of the two old ladies, was much the most staid and precise in her appearance. Her plain gray gown, made in the simplest fashion, was without a wrinkle; her muslin handkerchief and close cap white as snow. She was very pretty with the exquisite delicacy of complexion which "Friends" are so apt to possess and preserve—thanks to their shady, sensible headgear. Her hair, with still a golden shine in it here and there, lay in satin-like bands over her serene forehead, and her large gray eyes looked like the very abode of peace. Aunt Betsy's hair, on the contrary, would wave, and crinkle, and break away into rebellious little curls round her face and under her cap; her dress, though spotlessly clean, was worn with quite a different air from her sister's, and her complexion showed traces of free exposure to the sun. "Sister Betsy, how thee is burned with the sun!" said Aunt Hannah, in a tone of mild reproof. "Why won't thee keep thy sunbonnet on?" "Because I can't see as well with it, Sister Hannah, and, besides, I like to feel the sun. What does it matter for an old woman like me?" Aunt Hannah sighed gently. "Well, Betsy, thee will always be thyself to the end." "Would thee want me to be any one else, Hannah?" Aunt Hannah smiled, and turned to the girls. "I suppose, Mary, thee has come about the towels. Has Alice decided upon the pattern?"