sh up, as if you were
fighting; and the bosom of your Sunday frock was loose in church two
buttons; it was not hot at all to speak of, and there was a wasp next
pew. All these things make me unhappy, Mary. My darling, tell me what it
is."

Mary listened with great amazement to this catalogue of crimes. At the
time of their commission she had never even thought of them, although
she was vexed with herself when she saw one eye--for in verity that was
all--of a potato upon her father's plate. Now she blushed when she heard
of the buttons of her frock--which was only done because of tightness,
and showed how long she must have worn it; but as to the double thread,
she was sure that nothing of that sort could have happened.

"Why, mother dear," she said, quite softly, coming up in her coaxing
way, which nobody could resist, because it was true and gentle
lovingness, "you know a hundred times more than I do. I have never known
of any of the sad mistakes you speak of, except about the potato-eye,
and then I had a round-pointed knife. But I want to make no excuses,
mother; and there is nothing the matter with me. Tell me what you mean
about the wolves."

"My child," said her mother, whose face she was kissing, while they both
went on with talking, "it is no good trying to get over me. Either you
have something on your mind, or you have not--which is it?"

"Mother, what can I have on my mind? I have never hurt any one, and
never mean to do it. Every one is kind to me, and everybody likes me,
and of course I like them all again. And I always have plenty to do, in
and out, as you take very good care, dear mother. My father loves me,
and so do you, a great deal more than I deserve, perhaps. I am happy
in a Sunday frock that wants more stuff to button; and I have only one
trouble in all the world. When I think of the other girls I see--"

"Never mind them, my dear. What is your one trouble?"

"Mother, as if you could help knowing! About my dear brother Jack, of
course. Jack was so wonderfully good to me! I would walk on my hands and
knees all the way to York to get a single glimpse of him."

"You would never get as far as the rick-yard hedge. You children talk
such nonsense. Jack ran away of his own free-will, and out of downright
contrariness. He has repented of it only once, I dare say, and that has
been ever since he did it, and every time he thought of it. I wish
he was home again, with all my heart, for I can not bear to