chen-covered breast, buried her face in them and burst into sobs.

"Why is it? why is it? Why should every one like the others and no one
like me? Why should Penelope have everything and me nothing, and why
can't I feel nice about it? Why do I care, or why can't I pretend I don't
mind?" At that moment Esther really did believe that no one in all the
world cared in the least for her. "Penelope is pretty and clever, and--
and taking, and--and now she has a beautiful voice, and I have nothing.
I am not pretty or clever or nice, and I shall never be anything, or do
anything, and--and no one wants me. She will be able to go about and
travel, and be rich and have everything she wants, and be able to help the
others, and--and I am no better than a drudge!"

A little field-mouse, creeping out of its hole, heard the sobs and flew
away again, nearly scared out of its wits. A goldfinch came and perched
on a furze-bush near, looked wonderingly at the odd-shaped thing that made
such funny noises, and then flew away to a thistle and began to search for
any stray seeds that might have been overlooked. Little spiders ran over
the boulder and put out delicate feelers to try to discover what curious
pinky-white things those were that lay on the old stone; then, after a
first venture, finding them harmless, ran over and over Esther's hand in a
perfect fuss and fury of excitement.

Esther, feeling the slight tickling of the little creatures' feet, raised
her head to look, and kept it raised to watch their busy movements. Her
storm of tears had relieved her heart, and done her good. She felt less
injured, and in a better frame of mind. She did not dare to move until the
last spider had finished his investigations, for fear of alarming him; but
when he had scurried away home, evidently eager to tell of his adventures,
she raised herself and looked about her.

Her face and eyes were hot and swelled and aching. She could not meet any
one while looking such a sight as she was. She would walk on until the
fresh breeze should have cooled down her burning features. She turned
away from Dorsham in the same direction as the river ran. It was all a
strange country to her, and she would explore it. No one would miss her
at home. The anger and jealousy were gone, but she still felt sad and
lonely, and full of pity for herself.

She walked on and on and on, still too absorbed in herself to pay any heed
to the voice of the birds or the