you sheer
off quietly; if you don't, not a blessed thing shall you have out of my
big boxes."

Chapter 4--Aunts

All dinner-time Rose felt that she was going to be talked about, and
afterward she was sure of it, for Aunt Plenty whispered to her as they
went into the parlour,

"Run up and sit awhile with Sister Peace, my dear. She likes to have you
read while she rests, and we are going to be busy."

Rose obeyed, and the quiet rooms above were so like a church that she
soon composed her ruffled feelings, and was unconsciously a little
minister of happiness to the sweet old lady, who for years had sat there
patiently waiting to be set free from pain.

Rose knew the sad romance of her life, and it gave a certain tender
charm to this great-aunt of hers, whom she already loved. When Peace was
twenty, she was about to be married; all was done, the wedding dress lay
ready, the flowers were waiting to be put on, the happy hour at hand,
when word came that the lover was dead. They thought that gentle Peace
would die, too; but she bore it bravely, put away her bridal gear, took
up her life afresh, and lived on a beautiful, meek woman, with hair as
white as snow and cheeks that never bloomed again. She wore no black,
but soft, pale colours, as if always ready for the marriage that had
never come.

For thirty years she had lived on, fading slowly, but cheerful, busy,
and full of interest in all that went on in the family; especially the
joys and sorrows of the young girls growing up about her, and to them
she was adviser, confidante, and friend in all their tender trials and
delights. A truly beautiful old maiden, with her silvery hair, tranquil
face, and an atmosphere of repose about her that soothed whoever came to
her!

Aunt Plenty was utterly dissimilar, being a stout, brisk old lady, with
a sharp eye, a lively tongue, and a face like a winter-apple. Always
trotting, chatting, and bustling, she was a regular Martha, cumbered
with the cares of this world and quite happy in them.

Rose was right; and while she softly read psalms to Aunt Peace, the
other ladies were talking about her little self in the frankest manner.

"Well, Alec, how do you like your ward?" began Aunt Jane, as they all
settled down, and Uncle Mac deposited himself in a corner to finish his
doze.

"I should like her better if I could have begun at the beginning, and
so got a fair start. Poor George led such a solitary life that the child
has su