was a very rare thing with Aunt Elsie. It
was not repeated now. Indeed, she would hardly have ventured to strike
again the white, indignant face that was turned towards her. Surprise
and anger kept the girl for one moment silent; then, in a voice she
could hardly make audible for the beating of her heart, she gasped:

"I hate you, Aunt Elsie! I wish I were dead!"

"Be quiet, with your wicked words!" cried Aunt Elsie. "You are far from
being in a fit state to die, you disobedient, bad child."

But Aunt Elsie was vexed with herself for the blow she had given, and
all the more vexed with Christie on that account. Christie was really
sorry for her fault; but, quite forgetting that she had given no sign of
sorrow, she called her aunt unjust and cruel, and bitterly resented both
word and blow. Anger and pride gave her strength to obey the command to
carry the bread to a cool place, and to keep back a rush of tears till
her task was done. But it failed her then; and, throwing herself on the
ground, out of sight, she wept and sobbed, and uttered words as wicked
and passionate as those which her aunt had reproved.

This was the beginning; and after that nothing could be expected to go
well. Though her head ached and her hands trembled, the work of the
house must be done; and more than her usual share fell to Christie
to-day. For Aunt Elsie's rheumatism was bad again, and much that she
usually did was left to Christie. But her aunt did not say she was ill.
The added tasks were assigned with a voice and in a manner that seemed
to declare them a part of the punishment for the fault of the morning;
and we cannot wonder much that they were sullenly performed.

"I don't care," repeated Christie to herself, over and over again, that
day. "There is no use in trying to please Aunt Elsie. It makes no
difference. She's cross always. I never do anything right, she says;
and I don't care!"

But she did care, for all that. She was very wretched. She avoided her
sisters when they came home to dinner, saying she had a headache, and
didn't want any--which, indeed, was true; and her sisters, thinking that
she and Aunt Elsie had had a falling-out which would be made up before
night, left her to herself. So Christie sat on the garret-floor, too
miserable to read, her heart full of angry thoughts against her aunt,
her sisters, and all the world.

But into the very midst of her vexed and angry murmurs against them
there came