hild, because I never take any more,--that's the way not to
have things--troubles or aprons. I could have my hands full of both,
but what's the use?--when one hasn't eyes--for sewing or crying. Mrs.
Stoutenburgh comes, and Mrs. Somers, and Miss Essie--and the landlord,
and sometimes I let 'em leave me a job, and sometimes I don't,--send
'em, dresses, and all, off to Quilipeak."

"Then I'll tell you what you shall give me to-day--instead of bread and
milk;--some of the work that you would send off. Don't you remember,"
said Faith, smiling quietly at Miss Bezac's eyes,--"you once promised
to teach me to embroider waistcoats?"

"Why yes!" said Miss Bezac--"and so I will. But, my dear, are you sure
he would wear it?--and after all, isn't it likely he'll get everything
of that sort he wants, in Paris? And then the size!--who's to tell what
that should be? To be sure you could do the fronts, and have them made
up afterwards--and of course he _would_ wear anything you made.--I'll
go right off and get my patterns."

Faith's confusion was startled. It was Miss Bezac's turn to look at
her. She caught hold of the seamstress and brought her back to
listening at least.

"Stop!--Miss Bezac!--you don't understand me. I want work!--I want
work. I am not talking of making anything for anybody!--" Faith's eyes
were truthful now, if ever they were.

"Well then--how can you work, if you won't make anything for anybody?
Want work, Faith?--you don't mean to say all that story about Sarn
Deacon's _true?_ Do you know," said Miss Bezac, dropping into a chair
and folding her hands, "when I heard that man had gone out of town, I
said to myself, it would be a mercy if he never came back!"--which was
the severest censure Miss Bezac ever passed upon anybody. "I really
did," she went on,--"and now he's come, and I s'pose I've got to say
_that_'s a mercy too--and this,--though I wouldn't believe it last
night."

"Then you have heard it?"

"My ears did, and they're pretty good ears too,--though I do get out of
patience with them now and then."

"It's true," said Faith, "and it's nothing very dreadful. Mother and I
have nothing to live upon but what I can make by butter; so I thought I
would learn and take work of you, if you had it for me. I could soon
understand it; and then you can let people bring you as much as they
will--what you cannot do, I will do. I could think of nothing so
pleasant;--no way to make money, I mean."

For a minute M