ary thing. Oh dear, dear!"

Phoebe Latrobe, who had been sent by Madam to tell the news at the
Maidens' Lodge, sat quietly listening in a corner. But when Mrs
Marcella began thus to play her favourite tune, Phoebe rose and took her
leave. She called on Lady Betty, who expressed her gratification in the
style of measured propriety which characterised her. Lastly, with a
slow and rather tired step, she entered the gate of Number One. She had
left her friend Mrs Dorothy to the last.

"Just in time for a dish of tea, child!" said little Mrs Dorothy, with
a beaming smile. "Sit you down, my dear, and take off your hood, and I
will have the kettle boiling in another minute. Well, and how have you
enjoyed your visit? You look tired, child."

"Yes, I feel tired," answered Phoebe. "I scarce know how I enjoyed the
visit, Mrs Dorothy--there were things I liked, and there were things I
didn't like."

"That is generally the case, my dear."

"Yes," said Phoebe, abstractedly. "Mrs Dorothy, did you know Mrs
Marcella Talbot when she was young?"

"A little, my dear. Not so well as I know her now."

"Was she always as discontented as she is now?"

"That is a spirit that grows on us, Phoebe," said Mrs Dorothy, gravely.

Phoebe blushed. "I know you think I have it," she replied. "But I
should not wish to be like Mrs Marcella."

"I think thy temptation lies that way, dear child. But thy disposition
is not so light and frivolous as hers. However, we will not talk of our
neighbours without we praise them."

"Mrs Dorothy, Rhoda has engaged herself to Mr Marcus Welles. Madam
sent me down to tell all of you."

"She has, has she?" responded Mrs Dorothy, as if it were quite what she
expected. "Well, I trust it may be for her good."

"Aren't you sorry, Mrs Dorothy?"

"Scarce, my dear. We hardly know what are the right things to grieve
over. You and I might have thought it a very mournful thing when the
prodigal son was sent into the field to feed swine: yet--speaking after
the manner of men--if that had not happened, he would not have arisen
and have gone to his father."

"Do you think Rhoda will have to go through trouble before she can find
peace, Mrs Dorothy?"

"`Before she can--' I don't know, my dear. Before she will--I am
afraid, yes."

"I am so sorry," said Phoebe.

"Dear child, the last thing the prodigal will do is to arise and go to
the Father. He will try every sort of swine's husks first. He do