od
number of truths, some of them combined with such a spirit of impudent
fun, that you can scarcely keep from laughing, even at the joke against
yourself. Libbie had often and often been greeted by such questions
as--"How long is it since you were a beauty?"--"What would you take a
day to stand in the fields to scare away the birds?" &c., for her to
linger under any impression as to her looks.

While she was thus musing, and quietly crying, under the pictures her
fancy had conjured up, the Dixons came dropping in, and surprised her
with her wet cheeks and quivering lips.

She almost wished to have the stillness again that had so oppressed her
an hour ago, they talked and laughed so loudly and so much, and bustled
about so noisily over everything they did. Dixon took hold of one
iron handle of her box, and helped her to bump it upstairs, while his
daughter Anne followed to see the unpacking, and what sort of clothes
"little sewing body had gotten." Mrs. Dixon rattled out her tea-things,
and put the kettle on, fetched home her youngest child, which added to
the commotion. Then she called Anne downstairs, and sent her for this
thing and that: eggs to put to the cream, it was so thin; ham, to give a
relish to the bread and butter; some new bread, hot, if she could get
it. Libbie heard all these orders, given at full pitch of Mrs. Dixon's
voice, and wondered at their extravagance, so different from the habits
of the place where she had last lodged. But they were fine spinners, in
the receipt of good wages; and confined all day in an atmosphere ranging
from seventy-five to eighty degrees. They had lost all natural, healthy
appetite for simple food, and, having no higher tastes, found their
greatest enjoyment in their luxurious meals.

When tea was ready, Libbie was called downstairs, with a rough but
hearty invitation, to share their meal; she sat mutely at the corner of
the tea-table, while they went on with their own conversation about
people and things she knew nothing about, till at length she ventured
to ask for a candle, to go and finish her unpacking before bedtime, as
she had to go out sewing for several succeeding days. But once in
the comparative peace of her bedroom, her energy failed her, and she
contented herself with locking her Noah's ark of a chest, and put out
her candle, and went to sit by the window, and gaze out at the bright
heavens; for ever and ever "the blue sky, that bends over all," sheds
down a