ough to stand
alone.'

"She praised my work and said I was a good girl. Then she paid me the
money and tied a little blue silk handkerchief around my neck for a
keepsake. 'There,' she said, in her quick voice, 'you may go.' I did
many other patterns for the family, but poor lady! she never saw me
again. She had an illness and lost her eyesight. She was stone blind for
many years. I have the keepsake yet. It is put away in the hair-trunk."

The sisters were all in full sympathy, as usual. Thus I sat and listened
scores of times, making a pretence of wanting a pattern,--anything to
get Miss Chrissy story-telling.

In the centennial year I found "The Pears" much shaken from their even
tenor. The relic-hunters had penetrated their omnium gatherum and
offered fabulous sums for the quaint old bits they found there. One of
them declared he must and would have these wonders for the New England
Kitchen. But the sisters were outraged. Adroitly I managed to hint a
desire to see those treasures inestimable, and then for the first time I
moved from my accustomed seat, and they moved from theirs. The magnitude
of their wrongs would admit of nothing like routine or monotony. The
chairs were pushed back, and I saw five tall, slim figures standing
erect, in straight black gowns, white kerchiefs and spotless caps. They
were devout Lutherans, and their pew at the Sunday service was never
vacant; but I had never seen them outside the workshop.

We filed into the funny little chambers where were the high beds, with
their steps to be climbed. What a wilderness of feathers and patchwork!
Some of Miss Becky's work was there. The bureaus nearly to ceilings,
ornamented with round glass knobs, had their little mirrors perched
up above my head. The candle stands, with spindle legs, wore an
antediluvian look, and the chairs were just as queer. The more aspiring
ones were prim in starched antimaccassars. Even the footstools belonged
to a prehistoric age. There was nothing costly or elegant, but so very
ancient and even comical, I had never seen anything like it, anywhere.
A few oil-paintings, hung in the very border of the huge-figured paper,
were small, but evidently fine.

"These things were brought from Alsace," explained Miss Chrissy, as I
commented freely. "Elsace is the way to call it--and we can't bear to
have strangers meddling with what is sacred to us."

"Sacred to us," came from the procession behind.

At last, pausing before a hu