Alice smiled. "Why," said she, "when people here in the country have so much of any kind of work to do that their own hands are not enough for it, they send and call in their neighbours to help them — that's a bee. A large party in the course of a long evening can do a great deal." "But why do they call it a _bee?_" "I don't know, unless they mean to be like a hive of bees for the time. 'As busy as a bee,' you know." "Then they ought to call it a hive, and not a bee, I should think. Aunt Fortune is going to ask sixteen people. I wish you were coming!" "How do you know but I am?" "Oh, I know you aren't. Aunt Fortune isn't going to ask you." "You are sure of that, are you?" "Yes, I wish I wasn't. Oh, how she vexed me this morning by something she said!" "You mustn't get vexed so easily, my child. Don't let every little untowards thing roughen your temper." "But I couldn't help it, dear Miss Alice; it was about you. I don't know whether I ought to tell you; but I don't think you'll mind it, and I know it isn't true. She said she didn't want you to come because you were one of the proud set." "And what did _you_ say?" "Nothing. I had it just on the end of my tongue to say, 'It's no such thing;' but I didn't say it." "I am glad you were so wise. Dear Ellen, that is nothing to be vexed about. If it were true, indeed, you might be sorry. I trust Miss Fortune is mistaken. I shall try and find some way to make her change her mind. I am glad you told me." "I am _so_ glad you are come, dear Alice!" said Ellen again. "I wish I could have you always!" And the long, very close pressure of her two arms about her friend, said as much. There was a long pause. The cheek of Alice rested on Ellen's head, which nestled against her; both were busily thinking, but neither spoke; and the cricket chirped, and the flames crackled, without being listened to. "Miss Alice," said Ellen, after a long time — "I wish you would talk over a hymn with me." "How do you mean, my dear?" said Alice, rousing herself. "I mean, read it over and explain it. Mamma used to do it sometimes. I have been thinking a great deal about her to-day; and I think I'm very different from what I ought to be. I wish you would talk to me, and make me better, Miss Alice." Alice pressed an earnest kiss upon the tearful little face that was uplifted to her, and presently said — "I am afraid I shall be a poor substitute for your mother, Ellen. What hymn shall we take?" "Any one — this one, if you like. Mamma likes it very much. I was looking it over to-day: — 'A charge to keep I have, A God to glorify; A never-dying soul to save And fit it for the sky.' " Alice read the first line, and paused. "There, now," said Ellen — "what is a charge?" "Don't you know that?" "I think I do, but I wish you would tell me." "Try to tell me first." "Isn't it something that is given to one to do? — I don't know exactly."