r at one's
elbow, calling one Mrs Baboon, and my Lady Venus, and such like; but I
could have stood that, though I don't like it. But 'tis hard to be told
I have disappointed my mother's dearest hopes, and that she will never
take any more pleasure in me; that she would to Heaven I had died in my
cradle. That stings sometimes. Then, to know that if one makes the
least slip, it will be directly, `Oh, your saints are no better than
other folks!' Phoebe, I wish sometimes that I had not recovered."

"Oh, but you must not do that, Mrs Gatty!--well, Gatty, then, as you
are so kind. The Lord wanted you for something, I suppose."

"I wonder for what!" said Gatty.

"Well, we can't tell yet, you see," replied Phoebe, simply. "I suppose
you will find out by and bye."

"I wish I could find out," said Gatty, sighing.

"I think He will show you, when He is ready," said Phoebe. "Father used
to say that it took a good deal longer to make a fine microscope than it
did to make a common chisel or hammer; and he thought it was the same
with us. I mean, you know, that if the Lord intends us to do very nice
work, He will be nice in getting us ready for it, and it may take a good
while. And father used to say that we seldom know what God is doing
with us while He does it, but only when He has finished."

"Nice," at that time, had not the sense of pleasant, but only that of
delicately particular.

"I am glad you have told me that, Phoebe. I wish your father had been
living now."

"Oh!" very deep-drawn, from Phoebe, echoed the wish.

"Phoebe, I want you to tell me where you get your patience?"

"My patience!" repeated astonished Phoebe.

"Yes; I think you are the most patient maid I know."

"I can't tell you, I am sure!" answered Phoebe, in a rather puzzled
tone. "I didn't know I was patient. I don't think I have often asked
for that, specially. Very often, I ask God to give me what He sees I
need; and if that be as you say, I suppose He saw I wanted it, and gave
it me."

The admiring look in Gatty's eyes was happily unintelligible to Phoebe.

"Now then!" said Molly's not particularly welcome voice, close by them.
"Here's old Edmundson. Clasp your hands in ecstasy, Phoebe. Mum says
you and he have got to fall in love and marry one another; so make haste
about it. He's not an ill piece, only you'll find he won't get up
before noon unless you squirt water in his face. Now then, fall to, and
say some pretty things