be ears in the trees.

Chatty did not ask any further questions. She walked along very gravely,
with her head bent. "It makes one's heart ache," she said. There was an
ease in speaking to this girl who had played so strange a part in her
life, who knew her trouble as no one else did. "It makes one's heart
ache," she repeated. She was not thinking of herself. "And where is she
now? Do you hear of her? Do you know what has become of her?"

"Only one thing can become of her," said Lizzie. "She'll fall lower and
lower. Oh, you don't think a poor creature can fall any lower, I know,"
for Chatty had looked at her with wonder, shaking her head; "but lower and
lower in her dreadful way. One day there," said Lizzie philosophically,
but sadly, pointing to the high wall of the Elms, "with her fine dresses
and her horses and carriages: and the next in dirt and misery. And then
she'll die, perhaps in the hospital. Oh, she'll not be long in anybody's
way. They die soon, and then they are done with, and everybody is glad
of it--" the girl cried, with a burst of sudden tears.

Chatty stopped suddenly upon the road. They were opposite to the gate
from which so often the woman they were discussing had driven forth
in her short-lived finery; a stillness as of death had fallen on the
uninhabited house, and all was tranquil on the country road, stretching
on one side across the tranquil fields, on the other towards the
clustering houses of the village and the low spire which pointed to
heaven. "Lizzie," she said, "if it is never put right,--and perhaps it
will never be put right, for who can tell?--if you will come with me
who know so much about it, we will go and be missionaries to these poor
girls. I will tell them my story, and how I am married but have no
husband, and how three lives are all ruined,--all ruined for ever. And
we will tell them that love is not like that; that it is faithful and
true: and that women should never be like that--that women should
be--oh, I do not believe it, I do not believe it! Of her own free
will no woman could ever be like that!" Chatty cried, like Desdemona,
suddenly clenching her soft hands in a passion of indignation and pity.
"We will go and tell them, Lizzie!"

"Oh, Miss Chatty! They know it all, every word," Lizzie cried.

CHAPTER XLIX.

Two little girls are as unlike as anything can be to one little boy.
This gave Warrender a sort of angry satisfaction in the ridiculous
incident wh