She might be one of the most miserable, but it was not because of her ill-usage, but because she had no spirit to be cheerful, and had turned away from comfort of the right kind. She was in such a frame as to prefer thinking everyone against her, to supposing that anything she could do would mend matters. Christabel was much grieved at this unfortunate end to the Sunday evening. She looked over all the boys’ birds’ eggs—they were allowed to keep two of every sort as curiosities—and listened to some wonderful stories of Henry’s about climbing trees, and shooting partridges, and she kept the remaining children quiet and amused; but she was not happy in her mind. She thought she must have been wrong in not watching them more closely, and she felt more dislike and indignation against Johnnie than she feared was altogether right in his governess. Also, she feared to make too much of Elizabeth, and was almost afraid that notice taught her to be still more fretful. And yet there was a sense of being drawn to her by their two minds understanding each other, by likeness of tastes, by pity, and by a wish to protect one whom her little world oppressed. Nurse Freeman could not be more afraid of Miss Fosbrook making favourites than she was herself. All she could do in the matter was that which she had already done at Bessie’s bedside, and much more fully than when the little girl was listening to her. CHAPTER V. WITH Monday morning began the earning of the pig. Miss Fosbrook’s first business after prayers was to deal out the week’s allowance—sixpence to each of the four elders, threepence apiece to the three younger ones. “May there be no fines,” she said. “I’ll not have the hundredth part of a fine!” shouted Henry, tossing his money into the air. Little David’s set lips expressed the same purpose. “Please let me have a whole sixpence,” said Susan. “If I haven’t any change, I sha’n’t spend it.” “You, Sukey! you’d better have the four farthings,” laughed Sam. “You’ll be the first to want them.” Susan laughed; and Miss Fosbrook, partly as an example to the plaintive Elizabeth, said, “You are so good-humoured, Susie, that I can’t find it in my heart to demand a fine—or—your hair; and there,” pointing to the stout red fingers, “did you ever behold such a black little row?” “Oh dear!” cried Susan, in her good-humoured hearty voice, “how tiresome, when they were _so_ clean this morning, and I’ve only just been feeding the chicken, and up in the hay-loft for the eggs, and pulling the radishes!” “Well, go and wash and brush, and to-morrow remember the pig,” said Miss Fosbrook, unable to help comparing the radishes and the fingers for redness and for earthiness. It was a more difficult matter when, as Elizabeth put her silver coin into her purse, John must needs repeat the stupid old joke, “There goes stingy Bet!” and Bessie put on her woeful appealing face. “John, I shall punish you if I hear those words again.”