ne
grand duty of every human creature was to rouse himself and other
people: and, measured by this rule, Aunt Tabitha certainly did her duty.
She earnestly impressed on Alice that Mr Benden would develop into a
perfect angel if only she stood up to him; and she was never tired of
assuring Christie that her weakness and suffering were entirely the
result of her own idle disinclination to rouse herself. Thus urged,
Christie did sometimes try to rouse herself, the result being that when
deprived of the stimulating presence of Aunt Tabitha, she was fit for
nothing but bed for some time afterwards. It was a good thing for her
that Aunt Tabitha's family kept her busy at home for the most part, so
that her persecutions of poor Christie were less frequent than they
would otherwise have been.

Mr Thomas Hall, the younger brother of Roger and Alice, had the air of
a man who had been stood up to, until he had lost all power or desire of
standing up for himself. He remarked that it was a fine morning with an
aspect of deprecation that would have made it seem quite cruel to
disagree with him, even if it were raining hard. He never contradicted
his Tabitha: poor man, he knew too well what would come of it! It would
have been as easy for him to walk up to the mouth of a loaded cannon
when the gunner was applying the match, as to remark to her, in however
mild a tone, that he preferred his mutton boiled when he knew she liked
it roasted. Yet he was a good man, in his meek unobtrusive way, and
Christie liked her Uncle Thomas next best to her father and Aunt Alice.

"Christie, I marvel you are not weary!" said her lively, robust cousin
Friswith [a corruption of Frideawide], one day.

Not weary! Ah, how little Friswith knew about it!

"I am by times, Friswith," said Christie meekly.

"Mother saith she is assured you might have better health an' you would.
You lie and lie there like a log of wood. Why get you not up and go
about like other folks?"

"I can't, cousin; it hurts me."

"Hurts you, marry! I wouldn't give in to a bit of a hurt like that! I
never mind being hurt."

Christie silently doubted that last statement.

"Hear you, Christie?"

"Yes, Friswith, I hear."

"Then why rouse you not up, as Mother saith?"

"I can't, Friswith; my head pains me this morrow."

"Lack-a-daisy, what a fuss you make o'er a bit of pain! Well, I must be
away--I've to go to Cranbrook of an errand for Mother; she lacks a
sarcenet