epsy," continued Miss Goldthwaite. "Can't you
see she's hardly fit to do a hand's turn at work? I met her out there
carrying a load she was no more fit to carry than that kitten."

"Ain't she?" inquired Miss Hepsy quite unmoved. "What else?"

"There she is; I see her through the door. Look at her, and _see_ if
she is well. If she doesn't get rest and that speedily, she'll go
into a decline, as sure as I sit here. I had a sister," said Carrie
with a half sob, "who died of decline, and she looked exactly as Lucy
does."

Miss Hepsy walked from the dresser to the stove and back again before
she spoke. "When did you find out, Miss Goldthwaite, that Hepsy
Strong could not mind her own affairs and her own folks?"

It was said in Miss Hepsy's most disagreeable manner, which was very
disagreeable indeed; but Miss Goldthwaite did not intend to be
disconcerted so soon.

"You have a kind heart, I know, Miss Hepsy, though you show it so
seldom. You must know Lucy's value by this time, and if you haven't
learned to love her, I don't know what you are made of. Be gentle
with her, Miss Hepsy; she is very young--and she has no mother."

Miss Hepsy's temper was up, and she heard the gentle pleading
unmoved.

"Ye've meddled a good deal wi' me, Miss Goldthwaite," she said
slowly, "and I've never told ye to mind yer own business before, but
I tell ye now. An' though ye are the parson's sister, ye say things I
can't stand. Ye'd better be goin'; an' ye needn't come to Thankful
Rest again till ye can let me an' my concerns alone."

Miss Goldthwaite rose at once, not angry, only grieved and
disappointed.

"Good-bye, then, Miss Hepsy. It was only my love for Lucy made me
speak. I'm sorry I've offended you. She is a dear, good girl. Some
day, perhaps, you will be sorry you did not listen to my words," she
said, and went away.

Not many words, good or bad, did Aunt Hepsy speak in the house that
night. Lucy, busy with her mending, wondered what had passed that
afternoon that Miss Goldthwaite's stay had been so brief. Aunt
Hepsy's eyes rested keenly on Lucy's pale, sweet face more than once,
and she was forced to admit that it was paler and thinner and more
worn-looking than it need be. But she hardened her heart, and refused
to obey its more kindly promptings. A few more days went by. Lucy
grew weaker, and flagged in her work; and Aunt Hepsy watched her, and
_would not_ be the first to take needful steps. On Sunday morning
Lucy did no