s that the
way you are brought up?"

"I didn't call her names, ma'am; she ate the cake, but I was willing,"
replied Susy, calmly and respectfully, though she trembled from head to
foot. There was one thought which sustained Susy; she was telling the
truth, and that was just what God wanted her to do.

"Well," said Mrs. Lovejoy, "I must say you're a dignified little piece!
Do you know you've done the same thing as to tell me I lie?"

This was just the way _Annie_ had spoken; warping innocent words, and
making them the occasion of a quarrel.

Susy could think of nothing which seemed exactly right to say to Mrs.
Lovejoy in reply; so she wisely held her peace.

"Yes, miss, you've insulted my child, and, as if that were not enough,
you come over here, deliberately, and insult _me_, in my own house!"

Tears sprang to Susy's eyes, but she resolutely crushed them back.
There was, in her childish mind, a certain sense of self-respect, which
made her unwilling to cry in the presence of such a person as Mrs.
Lovejoy. She felt instinctively that the woman was not a lady. Susy was
too young to reason about the matter; but she was quite sure her own
mother was a model of good manners; and never, never had she known her
mother to raise her voice to such a high key, or speak such angry words!

Mrs. Lovejoy said a great many things which were both severe and unjust;
but Susy managed to keep up a respectful manner, as her mother had
directed. Mrs. Lovejoy was disappointed. She had expected Susy would
quail before her presence and make the most humble confessions.

"I always knew," cried Mrs. Lovejoy, becoming more and more
exasperated,--"I always knew Mrs. Parlin held her head pretty high! She
is a proud, stuck-up woman, your mother is; she has taught you to look
down on my little girl! O, yes, I understand the whole story! You're a
beautiful family for neighbors!"

Poor Susy was fairly bewildered.

"Now you may go home as straight as you can go! But remember one thing:
never, while we live in this city, shall my daughter Annie darken your
doors again!"

Susy walked home with downcast head and overflowing eyes. Her heart was
very heavy, for she felt she had been disgraced for life, and could
never be respected any more. Here was a trial so terrible that it caused
the death of little Dandy to seem almost a trifle by comparison.

It was strange, Susy thought, how people could live through such severe
troubles as had fallen to