place I live in!" sobbed Maria. "Not a nice thing
about it. And here I sit and sew and sew, to make other people's
things, from morning till night; and longer. I had to sit up till ten
o'clock last night, puckering on that ribband; and I shall have to do
it again to-night; till twelve, very likely; because I have spent time
talking to you. All that somebody else may be dressed and have a good
time."

"But Maria, what would you do if you _hadn't_ this to do?" suggested
Matilda.

"I don't know, and I don't care! I'd as lieve die as do this. I should
like to put those pieces of blue ribband in the stove, and never see
them again!"

"Isn't it pleasant work, Maria? I think it is pretty nice work. It
isn't hard."

"Isn't it!" said Maria. "How would you like to try it? How would _you_
like to exchange your room at Mrs. Laval's for this one? Haven't you
got a nice room there?"

Matilda answered yes.

"How would you like to exchange it for this one, and to sit here making
somebody's dress for a party, instead of riding about on the cars and
going where you like and seeing everything and doing what you've a mind
to? Nice exchange, wouldn't it be? Don't you think you'd like to try
it? And I would come and see you and tell you how pleasant it is."

Matilda had nothing to say. Her eye glanced round again at the items of
Maria's surroundings: the worn ingrain carpet; the rusty, dusty little
stove; the patch-work counterpane, which the bright silk made to look
so very coarse; and she could not but confess to herself that it would
be a sore change to leave her pleasant home and easy life and come
here. But what then?

"Maria, it isn't my fault," she said at last. "It is not my doing at
all. And I think this is a _great_ deal better than living with aunt
Candy; and I would a great deal rather do it."

"I wouldn't," said Maria.

Matilda sat still and waited; her gayety pretty well taken down. She
was very sorry for her sister, though she could not approve her views
of things. Neither did she know well what to say to them. So she kept
silence; until Maria stopped sobbing, dried her eyes, washed her hands,
and began to quill her blue trimming again.

"What did you come to Poughkeepsie for, to-day?"

"To see you; nothing else."

"I think it is time. You haven't been here for weeks, and months, for
aught I know."

"Because I wrote you why, Maria. There was sickness at Briery Bank, and
Norton and I were at the parsonage ev