aunt, and never felt at ease in her society. Her obedience was yielded by duty, not love, and of this Miss Waller was painfully aware. But instead of examining herself to discover whether she were to blame for so unhappy a state of things, she indulged in harsh thoughts of Mary, and thus the breach between them became wider, until Miss Waller, who had never been in the habit of controlling her temper, became so irritable that the least annoyance made her angry, and it became a saying in Bloomfield, that "no one ever saw her looking pleased." It is true that remorse often followed these ebullitions of temper, and she would determine never again to speak harshly to Phoebe, never to deny Mary a reasonable request, merely to gratify some feeling of annoyance or love of authority but forgetting, or rather never having been taught, that she had no power of herself to think or do any good thing, or to refrain from evil, Miss Waller made these resolutions trusting in her own strength to perform them, and consequently they were invariably broken.

"The motherless! bend quietly
Over that little bed,

And draw the curtains lovingly
Around that infant head,
And smooth the pillow tenderly,
The cheek with kisses press,-
Then bear her on thy heart in prayer,
For she is motherless!

"The motherless! when Christmas

Hath piled the yule-log high,

And clustering faces smile around
The glad hearth merrily;
When for the kindly gift ye have
The fond and warm caress,
Forget not then that lonely one,
For she is motherless!

"The motherless! when illness

Hath blanched the dimpled cheek,
When on the couch of languishing
That little one lies weak,
Then pray that God be near her,
To strengthen and to bless,
And hear her tale of suffering,

For she is motherless!

"The motherless! when evening,

With the kind 'Good-night' goes round, Breathe in her ear all soothingly

The fond parental sound;

Tell her that e'en a mother's love

May learn forgetfulness,

And speak of the Unchangeable

To her, the motherless!"

CHAPTER XII.

In the evening, when Phoebe was taking away the tea-things, her mistress asked how Mary looked in church. "Just lovely," she replied; "it's a thousand pities you weren't there. And then to see that tall man of a captain handing her into the carriage; it was a sight Bloomfield won't forget in a hurry. Well, if it isn't like a dream to think of her being gone, she added, as she wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron.

"I don't see what great difference it can make to you," dryly observed her mistress. "You at all. events lose nothing by her absence; your wages will continue the same; I don't mean to lower them, though your work will be lighter with only me to attend, at least until I get a companion, and that may be many a day off."

Phoebe stood staring with her mouth open during this speech.

"No great difference!" she cried, as it ended; "just the difference between sunshine and fog; or between this," suddenly catching up the cat and stroking her from her ears to the tip of her tail, "and that," as she rubbed her up all the wrong way; upon which puss, in high wrath, bounced out

H

of her arms. "She knows what's what, anyhow,” continued Phœbe, emphatically, and so do I. Money's a good thing, and I say the same for eating and drinking, but it's not everything. I'd rather have a poor dinner with the sunshine playing about me, than an alderman's feast and the rain pattering on the window; and I'd rather live with Miss Mary for six pounds a year, than with

many a one for twelve. Don't be angry, if you please, ma'am." she added. deprecatingly, "my spirit's up for Miss Mary, and my tongue got the better of me."

Though annoyed at her boldness, Miss Waller did not utter a word, and Phœbe, thus encouraged,

went on.

"Why, ma'am, is it any wonder I'd miss her? There never came the day she didn't brighten by a kind word. I never met her like for saying something pleasant-something to comfort you if you were fretted, or to make you more happy when things went smooth. If the bread was a little over or under done, and I was trembling in my skin at the thought of bringing it into the parlour, she'd say, in her own sweet way, "You know, Phoebe, the baking was so beautiful last week; you couldn't expect it to be always like that. Ovens are often contrary; and the same with the soup and everything: but "

“I never find fault with your soup, Phoebe," said Miss Waller.

"No one ever did, or could, say a word against

my soup," rejoined Phoebe, indignantly; "but I never heard you say you thought it-what I know it always is--about the best you ever tasted; and I take it, not to say a thing's good that is, is next door to finding fault. It's not comfortable anyway, or like Miss Mary."

"I think you forget to whom you are speaking, Phoebe," said Miss Waller.

"Then I ask your pardon, ma'am, for that same, and maybe I did. Well, I've only one thing more to say, if you 'll allow me, about Miss Mary.' "Let it be short, then."

"It's just the crowning thing of all! Do you remember, ma'am, the day I put the nose of the iron right through her white muslin that had never seen a wash-tub; only wanted to have the flounces smoothed out; and she going to wear it at Mr Wright's?"

"Certainly I do; well, what about it?

"To be sure if I wasn't in a fright," continued Phoebe, "Oh, Miss Mary!' said I, running upstairs, with the burnt dress in my hand, look what I've done.'-' Never mind, Phoebe,' she said, 'I'll wear another. But see, it's only the top flounce that's burnt; we'll just take it off.' So, she got a big pin, and me another, and we had it off in no time. And then, holding it up, she said, 'I declare it's a great improvement taking off that flounce, for, as I am neither tall nor slight, too many didn't suit me.' Excuse me for talking so much," said Phoebe, leaving the room; "but that