can do is to help me through.--Josh, find summat for the boy to do;
'tain't no use hevin' him 'round idle lookin' for mischief."

"Come along to the barn then, What's-yer-name," said Uncle Josh,
picking up his hat and sauntering to the door.--"Don't be too hard on
that little 'un, Hepsy; she don't look over strong."

"Mind yer own business, will ye, Josh Strong," was Miss Hepsy's smart
rejoinder. "I guess I'm able to mind mine."

Under Miss Hepsy's directions, Lucy succeeded in washing up the
dishes without disaster, and was then requested to come to the far
parlour and receive a lesson in sweeping and dusting. Then baking
came on, and with one thing and another Miss Hepsy managed to keep
the child within doors and on her feet till past four o'clock. She
was fainting with fatigue, but would not complain, and Miss Hepsy was
too busy to observe the pallor on her face.

"May I sit down for a minute, please?" she said at last, after
bringing a huge can of flour from the larder. "I am afraid I am going
to faint, Aunt Hepsy;" and she looked like enough it, as she sank
wearily on the settle, and let her white lids droop over her tired
eyes.

Miss Hepsy was more than annoyed. "A delicate child above all
humbugs," she muttered, as she sprinkled a few drops of spring water
on the girl's face, and held her smelling-salts to her nostrils.

"Ye'd better go out an' get a mouthful of fresh air, I suppose," she
said ungraciously when Lucy rose at last, with a faint touch of
returning colour in her cheeks.

And Lucy gladly went upstairs for her hat, and crept out into the
beautiful sunshine. The garden gate was locked, but she managed to
turn the key, and went slowly, in a maze of delight, along the trim
paths, past beds of roses, hollyhocks, pansies, and sweet-scented
gilly-flowers. The orchard beyond looked tempting indeed, where the
sunbeams glistened through the bending boughs of apple, plum, and
cherry trees, on the soft carpet of grass beneath. She managed to
unfasten the gate there too, and choosing a wide-spreading
apple-tree, from which she could see the meadow and the river, flung
herself on the grass beneath it. There she fell asleep, and Tom found
her an hour after. His fine face looked worried and discontented, and
he flung himself beside her, saying gloomily,--

"How on earth I am to live here, Lucy Hurst, I don't know."

"What is it, Tom?" inquired she, forgetting her own troubles in
sympathy for him.

"Oh,