Ann Lizy, faintly.

"Oh, you wouldn't do it half so easy to-morrow; you've got to pick the
currants for the jell' to-morrow. Besides, that doesn't make any
difference. To-day's work is to-day's work, and it hasn't anything to do
with to-morrow's. It's no excuse for idlin' one day, because you do work
the next. You take that patchwork, and sit right down and sew it as soon
as you get there--don't put it off--and sew it nice, too, or you can
stay at home--just which you like."

Ann Lizy sighed, but reached out her hand for the bag. "Now be careful
and not lose it," said her grandmother, "and be a good girl."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't run too hard, nor go to climbin' walls, and get your best dress
torn."

"No, ma'am."

"And only one piece of cake at tea-time."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And start for home at half-past five."

"Yes, ma'am."

Little Ann Lizy Jennings, as she went down the walk between the rows of
pinks, had a bewildered feeling that she had been to Jane Baxter's to
tea, and was home again.

Her parents were dead, and she lived with her Grandmother Jennings, who
made her childhood comfortable and happy, except that at times she
seemed taken off her childish feet by the energy and strong mind of the
old woman, and so swung a little way through the world in her wake. But
Ann Lizy received no harm by it.

Ann Lizy went down the road with the bead bag on her arm. She toed out
primly, for she had on her best shoes. A little girl, whom she knew,
stood at the gate in every-day clothes, and Ann Lizy bowed to her in the
way she had seen the parson's wife bow, when out making calls in her
best black silk and worked lace veil. The parson's wife was young and
pretty, and Ann Lizy admired her. It was quite a long walk to Jane
Baxter's, but it was a beautiful afternoon, and the road was pleasant,
although there were not many houses. There were green fields and
flowering bushes at the sides, and, some of the way, elm-trees arching
over it. Ann Lizy would have been very happy had it not been for the
patchwork. She had already pieced one patchwork quilt, and her
grandmother displayed it to people with pride, saying, "Ann Lizy pieced
that before she was eight years old."

Ann Lizy had not as much ambition as her grandmother, now she was
engaged upon her second quilt, and it looked to her like a checked and
besprigged calico mountain. She kept dwelling upon those four squares,
over and over, until she felt as if each side