she said:

"I'm sure it was a little thing. A very little thing. She might have
known that nothing unkind was intended on my part."

"There are some subjects, aunt," I replied, "to which we cannot bear
the slightest allusion. And a sudden reference to them is very apt
to throw us off of our guard. What you said to Mary, has, in all
probability, touched some weakness of character, or probed some
wound that time has been able to heal. I have always thought her a
sensible, good natured girl."

"And so have I. But I really cannot think that she has shown her
good sense or good nature in the present case. It is a very bad
failing this, of being over sensitive; and exceedingly annoying to
one's friends."

"It is, I know; but still, all of us have a weak point, and when
that is assailed, we are very apt to betray our feelings."

"Well, I say now, as I have always said--I don't like to have any
thing to do with people who have these weak points. This being hurt
by a word, as if words were blows, is something that does not come
within the range of my sympathies."

"And yet, aunt," said I, "all have weak points. Even you are not
entirely free from them."

"Me!" aunt Rachel bridled.

"Yes; and if even as light a thing as a word were to fall upon them,
you would suffer pain."

"Pray, ma'am," said, aunt Rachel, with much dignity of manner; she
was chafed by my words, light as they were; "inform me where these
weaknesses, of which you are pleased to speak, lie?"

"Oh, no; you must excuse me. That would be very much out of place.
But I only stated a general fact that appertains to all of us."

Aunt Rachel looked very grave. I had laid the weight of words upon a
weakness of her character, and it had given her pain. That weakness
was a peculiarly good opinion of herself. I had made no allegation
against her; and there was none in my mind. My words simply
expressed the general truth that we all have weaknesses, and
included her in their application. But she imagined that I referred
to some particular defect or fault, and mail-proof as she was
against words, they had wounded her.

For a day or two, aunt Rachel remained more sober than was her wont.
I knew the cause, but did not attempt to remove from her mind an
impression my words had made. One day, about a week after, I said to
her:

"Aunt Rachel, I saw Mary Lane's mother this morning."

"Ah?" The old lady looked up at me enquiringly.

"I don't wonder your words hur