m me."

Ambrose chuckled a little. "I don't know but aunt likes a spice of
gossip as much as her niece. 'Tis she tells us all the news."

"Well, I can get plenty of that in the shop, without going to Dame Long
for it," said Charlotte, laughing. "I like the real article, genuine and
unadulterated."

They were laughing at Aunt Charlotte's wit when Amy came in, and she
looked from one to the other, afraid they were laughing at her project,
and ready to be offended or hurt. She did not like it when her father
said, "Look here, my girl, Aunt Charlotte says Dame Long's dish of
tongue is too spicy for you, and she must have it for herself."

"I don't know what you mean, father," said Amy, nearly crying, "I didn't
want it for that."

"No, you didn't, child," said Charlotte; "but come along here, I want
you to help me dish up."

Amy came with the tears standing in her eyes into the back kitchen,
vexed, angered, and ready to be cross. Her aunt set her to prepare the
dish for the Irish stew, while she said, "Father was at his jokes with
me, Amy. He don't like you to be running in and out to old Sally Long by
yourself; no more does your Aunt Rosy nor I; but the poor old body
didn't ought to be neglected, and the sermon was just as much for me as
for you, so I've made up my mind to look after her a bit, and you may
come in with me sometimes if you like."

"That was not what I meant," said Amy, rather fretfully.

"I dare say not. There, mind what you are about, or you'll have that
dish down. Where's the flour? Come, now, Amy, don't be daunted, if you
can't do good quite in your own way; why shouldn't you ask Miss Dora
now?"

Amy muttered and pouted. "I'm not such a child now!"

"Ain't you then, to be making such a pout at not getting just your own
way."

Down came the dish with a bounce on the table, and away ran Amy up the
stairs, where she cried and choked, and thought how hard it was that she
should be hindered, and laughed at, and scolded, when she wanted to do
good, and bring forth the fruit of good works.

She heard Aunt Rose ask where she was, and her Aunt Charlotte answer,
"Oh! she will be down in a minute."

She felt it kind that no one said that she was in the sulks. The relief
did her good; she could not bear that any one should guess what was
amiss. So she washed her face in haste, tidied her hair and collar, and
hoped that she looked as if she had gone up for nothing else.

Perhaps her father had had a