e door with a bang, which did not indicate either
calmness of mind or sweetness of temper.

"Is yon young woman going to stay any length o' time with us?" asked
she of Miss Benson.

Mr Benson put his hand gently on his sister's arm, to check her from
making any reply, while he said,

"We cannot exactly tell, Sally. She will remain until after her
confinement."

"Lord bless us and save us!--a baby in the house! Nay, then my time's
come, and I'll pack up and begone. I never could abide them things.
I'd sooner have rats in the house."

Sally really did look alarmed.

"Why, Sally!" said Mr Benson, smiling, "I was not much more than a
baby when you came to take care of me."

"Yes, you were, Master Thurstan; you were a fine bouncing lad of
three year old and better."

Then she remembered the change she had wrought in the "fine bouncing
lad," and her eyes filled with tears, which she was too proud to wipe
away with her apron; for, as she sometimes said to herself, "she
could not abide crying before folk."

"Well, it's no use talking, Sally," said Miss Benson, too anxious to
speak to be any longer repressed. "We've promised to keep her, and
we must do it; you'll have none of the trouble, Sally, so don't be
afraid."

"Well, I never! as if I minded trouble! You might ha' known me better
nor that. I've scoured master's room twice over, just to make the
boards look white, though the carpet is to cover them, and now you
go and cast up about me minding my trouble. If them's the fashions
you've learnt in Wales, I'm thankful I've never been there."

Sally looked red, indignant, and really hurt. Mr Benson came in with
his musical voice and soft words of healing.

"Faith knows you don't care for trouble, Sally; she is only anxious
about this poor young woman, who has no friends but ourselves. We
know there will be more trouble in consequence of her coming to stay
with us; and I think, though we never spoke about it, that in making
our plans we reckoned on your kind help, Sally, which has never
failed us yet when we needed it."

"You've twice the sense of your sister, Master Thurstan, that you
have. Boys always has. It's truth there will be more trouble, and
I shall have my share on't, I reckon. I can face it if I'm told out
and out, but I cannot abide the way some folk has of denying there's
trouble or pain to be met; just as if their saying there was none,
would do away with it. Some folk treats one like a babby, and I