strangers, that will treat you nobody knows how. Annie!
Annie! does Parson Grey approve of this?"

"Yes, aunty; he thinks it will be a fine opportunity for me to see
something of the world, and learn the arts and graces of polite
society."

"Ah! but these great, rich folks are often unkind and overbearing, and
oppress and treat with slight and scorn their dependents."

"O, Mr. Grey knows this family well, and recommends them in the highest
terms."

"Well, for all that, I can't bear the thought of losing you. So young
and ignorant."

"Ignorant, aunty? Why, Dr. Prague himself says I know twice as much as
his daughter Kate."

"Ah! book-learnin' enough; but I will tell you, Annie, a little
experience is better than all your books."

"Well, how am I to obtain experience but by mingling in the world, and
learning its manners and customs?"

"Ah, dear! I fear you will find this world, you are so anxious to see
and know, is a hard, rough place."

"Well, aunty, don't dishearten me at the outset. See what a nice box of
honey I've brought you from Aunt Rachel Grey. Some of it will be
delightful on your light batter cakes, with a slice of old Crummie's
yellow butter. I must go out and bid the dear old creature good-by. How
I used to love to drive her to the brook for water!"

"Ah, those were happy days for me, Annie!" said the old woman,
sorrowfully. "I shall never see the like again."

"Don't say so, aunty," said Annie, her own heart experiencing a thrill
of anguish at the prospect of leaving her old forest-home, and kind,
loving protector. "I shall return some day, may be rich and famous, and
_good_, too, I hope; for Parson Grey says 'tis better to be good than
great."

"God grant all your bright visions may be realized, Annie!" said the
aunt fervently.

"Now, while you prepare our evening meal, I'll run out and look at some
of my old haunts," said Annie, forcing back a tear, and trying to assume
a cheerful countenance.

So she wandered forth, while the grief-stricken woman spread the simple
board; but she could not relish the clear, dripping honey-comb sent by
the kind Aunt Rachel, and long after Annie slept in her little cot-bed,
did the old lady kneel over her sleeping form, weeping and praying for
her darling child. Annie spent the ensuing day with her aunt at the
cottage, and toward evening took a tearful leave, and bade adieu to
Scraggiewood.

CHAPTER VI.