“Wal, I thought likely it would chirk you up some, or I shouldn’t have went,” and Mrs. Wilkins put away a contented smile with her cherished bonnet, for Christie’s face had grown so much brighter since she saw it last, that the good woman felt sure her treatment was the right one. At supper Lisha reappeared, and while his wife and children talked incessantly, he ate four slices of bread and butter, three pieces of pie, five dough-nuts, and drank a small ocean of tea out of his saucer. Then, evidently feeling that he had done his duty like a man, he gave Christie another nod, and disappeared again without a word. When she had done up her dishes Mrs. Wilkins brought out a few books and papers, and said to Christie, who sat apart by the window, with the old shadow creeping over her face: “Now don’t feel lonesome, my dear, but jest lop right down on the soffy and have a sociable kind of a time. Lisha’s gone down street for the evenin’. I’ll keep the children as quiet as one woman can, and you may read or rest, or talk, jest as you’re a mind.” “Thank you; I’ll sit here and rock little Vie to sleep for you. I don’t care to read, but I’d like to have you talk to me, for it seems as if I’d known you a long time and it does me good,” said Christie, as she settled herself and baby on the old settee which had served as a cradle for six young Wilkinses, and now received the honorable name of sofa in its old age. Mrs. Wilkins looked gratified, as she settled her brood round the table with a pile of pictorial papers to amuse them. Then having laid herself out to be agreeable, she sat thoughtfully rubbing the bridge of her nose, at a loss how to begin. Presently Christie helped her by an involuntary sigh. “What’s the matter, dear? Is there any thing I can do to make you comfortable?” asked the kind soul, alert at once, and ready to offer sympathy. “I’m very cosy, thank you, and I don’t know why I sighed. It’s a way I’ve got into when I think of my worries,” explained Christie, in haste. “Wal, dear, I wouldn’t ef I was you. Don’t keep turnin’ your troubles over. Git atop of ’em somehow, and stay there ef you can,” said Mrs. Wilkins, very earnestly. “But that’s just what I can’t do. I’ve lost all my spirits and courage, and got into a dismal state of mind. You seem to be very cheerful, and yet you must have a good deal to try you sometimes. I wish you’d tell me how you do it;” and Christie looked wistfully into that other face, so plain, yet so placid, wondering to see how little poverty, hard work, and many cares had soured or saddened it. “Really I don’t know, unless it’s jest doin’ whatever comes along, and doin’ of it hearty, sure that things is all right, though very often I don’t see it at fust.” “Do you see it at last?” “Gen’lly I do; and if I don’t I take it on trust, same as children do what older folks tell ’em; and byme-by when I’m grown up in spiritual things I’ll understan’ as the dears do, when they git to be men and women.”