loving sister, Nancy Hawthorne_."

Pennie answered these letters fully, and moreover, in case she might
forget anything, she kept a diary, and wrote something in it at the end
of each day. Sometimes there was so little to put down that she had to
make some reflections, or copy a piece of poetry to fill it up; but it
was a comfort to her to think that some day she should read it over with
Nancy and Ambrose.

Meanwhile, this visit of Pennie's, which was to her a kind of exile, was
a very different matter to Miss Unity. Day by day Pennie's comfort,
Pennie's improvement, Pennie's pleasure filled her thoughts more and
more, and it became strange to think of the time when the little
pink-chintz room had been empty.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

KETTLES AGAIN.

Pennie sat one afternoon sewing wearily a way at a long seam. Sometimes
she looked at the clock, sometimes out of the window, and sometimes
dropped her work into her lap, until Miss Unity gave a grave look, and
then she took it up and plodded on again.

For Miss Unity had discovered another point in which Pennie needed
improvement. Her sewing was disgraceful! Now was the moment to take it
in hand, for she had no lessons to learn and a great deal of spare time
which could not be better employed; so it was arranged that one hour
should be spent in "plain needlework" every afternoon.

"Every gentlewoman, my dear, should be apt at her needle," said Miss
Unity with quiet firmness. "It is a branch of education as important in
its way as any other, and I should grieve if you were to fail in it."

"But it does make me ache all over so," said poor Pennie.

"My dear Pennie, that must be fancy. Surely it is much more fatiguing
to sit stooping over your writing so long, yet I never hear you
complain."

"Well, but I like it, you see," answered Pennie, "so I suppose that's
why I don't ache."

"It is neither good for you nor profitable to others," said Miss Unity
seriously. "You may dislike your needle, but you cannot deny that it is
more useful than your pen."

So Pennie submitted, and argued no more. With a view to making the work
more attractive, her godmother gave her a new work-box with a shiny
picture of the Cathedral on the lid. Every afternoon, with this beside
her, Pennie, seated stiffly in a straight chair with her shoulders well
pressed up against the back, passed an hour of great torture, which Miss
Unity felt sure was of immense benefit to her.

The roo