was jest sayin' that I thought Barney was kinder set," replied
her sister, mildly.

"He ain't no more set than Cephas," returned Sylvia.

"Cephas ain't set. It's jest his way."

Sylvia sniffed. She looked scornfully at Charlotte, who had raised
her head when she came in, but whose eyes were red. "Folks had better
been created without ways, then," she retorted. "They'd better have
been created slaves; they'd been enough sight happier an' better off,
an' so would other folks that they have to do with, than to have so
many ways, an' not sense enough to manage 'em. I don't believe in
free-will, for my part."

"Sylvy Crane, you ain't goin' to deny one of the doctrines of the
Church at your time of life?" demanded a new voice. Sylvia's other
sister, Hannah Berry, stood in the doorway.

Sylvia ordinarily was meek before her, but now she faced her. "Yes, I
be," said she; "I don't approve of free-will, and I ain't afraid to
say it."

Sylvia had always been considered very unlike Mrs. Hannah Berry in
face and character. Now, as she stood before her, a curious
similarity appeared; even her voice sounded like her sister's.

"What on earth ails you, Sylvy?" asked Mrs. Berry, ignoring suddenly
the matter in hand.

"Nothin' ails me that I know of. I don't think much of free-will, an'
I ain't goin' to say I do when I don't."

"Then all I've got to say is you'd ought to be ashamed of yourself.
Why, I should think you was crazy, Sylvy Crane, settin' up yourself
agin' the doctrines of the Word. I'd like to know what you know about
them."

"I know enough to see how they work," returned Sylvia, undauntedly,
"an' I ain't goin' to pretend I'm blind when I can see."

Sylvia's serene arc of white forehead was shortened by a distressed
frown, her mild mouth dropped sourly at the corners, and the lips
were compressed. Her white cap was awry, and one of yesterday's curls
hung lankly over her left cheek.

"You look an' act like a crazy creature," said Hannah Berry, eying
her with indignant amazement. She walked across the room to another
rocking-chair, moving with unexpected heaviness. She was in reality
as stout as her sister Sarah Barnard, but she had a long, thin, and
rasped face, which misled people.

"Now," said she, looking around conclusively, "I ain't come over here
to argue about free-will. I want to know what all this is about?"

"All what?" returned Mrs. Barnard, feebly. She was distinctly afraid
of her imperious sist