ut one, just now. I protest I don't know why Madam built them. I
guess she thought it was good works. I should have thought it would
have been better works to have sent for Aunt Anne, as well as you; but
don't you tell her I said so!"

"Don't be afraid," said Phoebe, smiling. "I trust I am not a
pick-thank. But don't you think, when you would not have a thing said
again, it were better not to say it at the first?"

[Note: A meddlesome mischief-maker.]

"Oh, stuff! I can't always be such a prig as that!"

Phoebe was unpacking a trunk of very modest dimensions, and Rhoda,
perched on a corner of the bed, sat and watched her.

"Is _that_ your best gown?"

"Yes," said Phoebe, lifting it carefully out.

"How many have you?"

"This and that."

"Only two? How poor Aunt Anne must be!"

"We have always been poor."

"Have you always lived in Bristol?"

"No. We used to live at the Bath when I was a child. Father was curate
at the Abbey Church."

"How much did he get?"

"Twenty-five pounds a year."

"That wasn't much for seven of you."

"It was not," returned Phoebe, significantly.

"What can you do?" asked Rhoda, suddenly. "Can you write poetry?"

"I never tried, so I cannot tell," said Phoebe.

"Can you sing?"

"Yes."

"And play on anything?"

"No. I cannot do much. I can sew pretty well, and knit in four
different ways; I don't cook much--I mean, I don't know how to make many
things, but I always try to be nice in all I can do. I can read and
write, and keep accounts."

"Can you dance a jig?--and embroider, and work tapestry?"

"No, I don't know anything of that."

"Can't work tapestry! Why, Phoebe!"

"You see, there never was any time," said Phoebe, apologetically. "Of
course, I helped mother with the cooking and sewing; and then there were
the children to see to, and I learned Perry and Kitty to read and sew.
Then there were all the salves and physic for the poor folk. We could
not afford much in that way, but we did what we could."

"Well, I wouldn't marry a parson; that's flat!" said Rhoda. "Fancy
spending all your days a-making salves and boluses! Fiddle-faddle!"

Phoebe gave a little laugh. "I was not always making salves," she said.

"Had you any pets? We have a parrot; I believe she's near as old as
Madam. I want a monkey, but Madam won't hear of it."

"We never had but one," said Phoebe, the quiver coming again into her
voice, "and--it died."

"What was it?"