le
life?"

"Did I not tell you a minute gone, Pandora Roberts, that you and I were
cast in different moulds? No, my Minorite Sister, I should not love
it--never a whit. I want my sunshine for mine own life--not to brighten
sick maids and polish up poor childre. Go your ways, O best of
Pandoras, and let me be. I'll try over the step of that new minuet
while you are gone."

"And would you really enjoy that better than being kind to a sick child?
O True, you do astonish me!"

"I should. I never was cut out for a Lady Bountiful. I could not do
it, Dorrie--not for all the praises and blessings you expect to get."

"Gertrude, _did_ you think--"

"An't like you, Mistress Pandora, the horses be at the door, and
Mistress Grena is now full ready."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A NEW FRIEND FOR CHRISTABEL.

"O Aunt Tabitha! have you and Uncle Thomas been to Canterbury? and did
you really see dear Aunt Alice? How looks she? and what said she? I do
want to know, and Father never seems to see, somehow, the things I want.
Of course I would not--he's the best father that ever was, Aunt
Tabitha, and the dearest belike; but somehow, he seems not to _see_
things--"

"He's a man," said Aunt Tabitha, cutting short Christabel's laboured
explanation; "and men never do see, child. They haven't a bit of
gumption, and none so much wit. Ay, we've been; but we were late, and
hadn't time to tarry. Well, she looks white belike, as folks alway do
when they be shut up from the air; but she seems in good health, and in
good cheer enough. She was sat of the corner, hard by a woman that
hath, said she, been a good friend unto her, and a right comfort, and
who, said she, must needs have a share in all her good things."

"Oh, I'm glad she has a friend in that dreadful place! What's her name,
Aunt, an' it like you?"

"Didn't say."

"But I would like to pray for her," said Christie with a disappointed
look; "and I can't say, `Bless that woman.'"

"Why not?" said Aunt Tabitha bluntly. "Art 'feared the Lord shall be
perplexed to know which woman thou meanest, and go and bless the wrong
one?"

"Why, no! He'll know, of course. And, please, has Aunt Alice a cushion
for her back?"

Tabitha laughed curtly. "Cushions grow not in prisons, child. Nay,
she's never a cushion."

"Oh, I'm sorry!" said Christie mournfully. "And I've got three! I wish
I could give her one of mine."

"Well, I scarce reckon she'd have leave to keep it, c