shook hands with her, remarking she was a pale-faced thing, and needed work and exercise to make her spry. Then the company sat down, and Tom, if Lucy did not, did ample justice to Miss Hepsy's cookery. It was an unsociable, uncomfortable meal. Aunt and uncle ate, as they did everything else, as if for a wager, and were finished before Lucy had touched her meat and potatoes.

"Look spry, child," said her aunt, beginning to clear away almost immediately. "You'll ha' to learn to eat to some purpose. Time don't last for ever."

Lucy pushed back her unfinished plateful and rose.

"Not dainty enough for ye, is it not?" was the next remark. "Ye'll eat it by-and-by maybe."

"I'm not hungry, Aunt Hepsy," she said with quivering lips; and Tom bit his to keep back angry words surging to them.

"May I go out for a little, Aunt Hepsy?" Lucy asked.

"When you've wiped them dishes you may," replied Aunt Hepsy. "I lost two good hours goin' to that plaguy depot for you, so the least ye can do is to help me through.—Josh, find summat for the boy to do; 'tain't no use hevin' him 'round idle lookin' for mischief."

"Come along to the barn then, What's-yer-name," said Uncle Josh, picking up his hat and sauntering to the door.—"Don't be too hard on that little 'un, Hepsy; she don't look over strong."

"Mind yer own business, will ye, Josh Strong," was Miss Hepsy's smart rejoinder. "I guess I'm able to mind mine."

Under Miss Hepsy's directions, Lucy succeeded in washing up the dishes without disaster, and was then requested to come to the far parlour and receive a lesson in sweeping and dusting. Then baking came on, and with one thing and another Miss Hepsy managed to keep the child within doors and on her feet till past four o'clock. She was fainting with fatigue, but would not complain, and Miss Hepsy was too busy to observe the pallor on her face.

"May I sit down for a minute, please?" she said at last, after bringing a huge can of flour from the larder. "I am afraid I am going to faint, Aunt Hepsy;" and she looked like enough it, as she sank wearily on the settle, and let her white lids droop over her tired eyes.

Miss Hepsy was more than annoyed. "A delicate child above all humbugs," she muttered, as she sprinkled a few drops of spring water on the girl's face, and held her smelling-salts to her nostrils.

"Ye'd better go out an' get a mouthful of fresh air, I suppose," she said ungraciously when Lucy rose at last, with a faint touch of returning colour in her cheeks.

And Lucy gladly went upstairs for her hat, and crept out into the beautiful sunshine. The garden gate was locked, but she managed to turn the key, and went slowly, in a maze of delight, along the trim paths, past beds of roses, hollyhocks, pansies, and sweet-scented gilly-flowers. The orchard beyond looked tempting indeed, where the sunbeams glistened through the bending boughs of apple, plum, and cherry trees, on the soft carpet of grass beneath. She managed to unfasten the gate there too, and choosing a wide-spreading apple-tree, from which she could see the meadow and the river, flung herself on the grass beneath it. There she fell asleep, and Tom found her an hour after. His fine face looked worried and discontented, and he flung himself beside her, saying gloomily,—

"How on earth I am to live here, Lucy Hurst, I don't know."

"What is it, Tom?" inquired she, forgetting her own troubles in sympathy for him.

"Oh, Uncle Josh, that's all. He hasn't any patience with me, and makes me speak up impertinently to him. And the things they say about mamma are perfectly shameful. I won't bear it now, I won't."

His sister's gentle hand touched his lips to stem the passionate words.

"You remember, Tom," she said softly, "what mamma said to us. We were to endure all such little trials, remembering that it is God who sends them. Think how grieved she would be if she could hear us grumbling so soon."

"I don't care; I can't help it," said the boy recklessly. "It isn't anything for you to be good, Lucy; you are just like mamma—a kind of saint, I think. For me it is just a long battle all day. If a fellow conquered in the end, it would not matter; but as it is—O Lucy, Lucy! why did mamma die? It was so easy to be happy and good when we had her to love and help us. I wish I were dead too."

Poor, proud, passionate Tom! His sister could only put her gentle arm about his neck and cry too, her heart so sorely re-echoed the painful longing in his voice.

So the first day at Thankful Rest did not promise very brightly for Tom and Lucy Hurst.

Saturday was the busiest day in the week at Thankful Rest. There was churning to be done, extra cooking for Sunday, mending and darning, and the weekly polishing of every bit of brass, and copper, and tin in the establishment. Lucy rubbed at them till her arms ached, without bringing them to the required height of brightness, and was at last sent off to pick the few remaining gooseberries for a tart. That was a piece of work much more to her liking, and she lingered so long out in the sunshine that Aunt Hepsy came at last, and scolded her long and shrilly; which took all the enjoyment away. Tom received his lessons from Uncle Josh outside; and, judging from his face when he came in at dinner-time, he had not found them particularly agreeable. Tom Hurst was a dainty youth, in fact, and shrank from soiling his fingers with the tasks allotted to him: and seeing that grim Uncle Josh had not spared him, the forenoon had been one long battle; for, try as he might, Tom could not keep a bridle on his tongue.

"I guess I'll hev a pesky deal o' trouble with that young 'un, Hepsy," his uncle said that night when the children had gone to bed. "He doesn't take to farm work; an' he's that peart I durstn't speak to him. Queer thing if we've got to keep the young upstart in idleness."

"Idleness!" quoth Miss Hepsy wrathfully. "I'd take a rope's end to him if he didn't keep a civil tongue in his head. The gal's bad enough; though she never speaks back she looks at me that proud-like wi' them great eyes o' her'n, I feel as if I'd like to shake her. There'll never be a day's peace now they've come."

"Tell ye what, though, Hepsy," said Josh. "I'm gwine to pay off Brahm, an' make Tom do his work. He ain't that much younger, an' he looks strong enough! Couldn't you do without Keziah, and that would square expenses?"

"I'll see how the child turns out in a week or so. She's a pinin' thing—doesn't eat enough to keep a mouse alive."

"It's a thankless thing, any way ye like to take it, Hepsy, hevin' other folks' youngsters round. I don't see why we should be bothered with 'em;" with which remark Josh went to bed.

Lucy awoke next morning, remembering it was Sunday, with a feeling of gladness that they might perhaps chance to see their friend Mr. Goldthwaite at church. The Strongs were regular as clock-work in their half-day attendance at the meeting-house. The morn'ng was devoted to feeding cattle, pigs, and poultry, and tidying up the house; and after dinner the premises were left in charge of Brahm and Keziah, and the master and mistress turned their footsteps towards Pendlepoint. The meeting-house was almost close to the parsonage, and was a pretty, primitive structure, with no attempt at display or decoration, and yet so pleasant and homelike inside that Lucy felt a sense of rest as her eyes wandered round it. Tom nudged her and whispered, "Nice little chapel, Lucy;" at which Miss Hepsy held up a warning finger and shook her head. Tom blushed and laughed, Aunt Hepsy looked so intensely comical. Then she became very red in the face, and opening her hymn-book, kept her eyes on its pages till Mr. Goldthwaite came in. His eyes travelled straight to the Strongs' pew, and Lucy thought she saw a kindly gleam of recognition in his eyes. Carrie was at the harmonium. She, too, looked once or twice in their