days you will feel a tender
pity, when you think of your mother's girlhood. You are learning how
she lived at your age. I trembled at the prosperity of your opening
life, and believed it best for you to have a period of contrast. I
thought you would, by and by, understand me better than I do myself;
for you are not like me, Cassy, you are like your father. You shall
never go back to Barmouth, unless you wish it. Dear Cassy, do you pray
any? I send you some new petticoats, and a shawl. Does Mercy warm the
bed for you? Your affectionate Mother."

I dressed and undressed in Aunt Mercy's room, which was under the
roof, with benumbed fingers. My hair was like the coat of a cow in
frosty weather; it was so frowzy, and so divided against itself, that
when I tried to comb it, it streamed out like the tail of a comet.
Aunt Mercy discovered that I was afflicted with chilblains, and had
a good cry over them, telling me, at the same moment, that my French
slippers were the cause. We had but one fire in the house, except the
fire in the shop, which was allowed to go down at sunset. Sometimes
I found a remaining warmth in the goose, which had been left in
the ashes, and borrowed it for my stiffened fingers. I did not get
thoroughly warm all day, for the fire in the middle room, made of
green wood, was continually in the process of being stifled with a
greener stick, as the others kindled. The school-room was warm; but I
had a back seat by a window, where my feet were iced by a current, and
my head exposed to a draught. In January I had so bad an ague that
I was confined at home a week. But I grew fast in spite of all my
discomforts. Aunt Mercy took the tucks out of my skirts, and I burst
out where there were no tucks. I assumed a womanly shape. Stiff as
my hands were, and purple as were my arms, I could see that they were
plump and well shaped. I had lost the meagerness of childhood and
began to feel a new and delightful affluence. What an appetite I had,
too!

"The creature will eat us out of house and home," said grand'ther one
day, looking at me, for him good-humoredly.

"Well, don't shoot me, as you shot the pigeons."

"Pah, have pigeons a soul?"

In February the weather softened, and a great revival broke out. It
was the dullest time of the year in Barmouth. The ships were at
sea still, and the farmers had only to fodder their cattle, so that
everybody could attend the protracted meeting. It was the same as
Sunday at our