poetry!" said Rhoda, contemptuously.

"That is true enough of some hymns, child," answered Mrs Dorothy.
"But, Phoebe, my dear, will you let us hear one of your hymns?"

"They are in French," whispered Phoebe.

"They will do for me in French, my dear," replied Mrs Dorothy.

Rhoda stared in manifest astonishment. Phoebe struggled for a moment
with her natural shyness, and then she began:--

"Mon sort n'est pas a plaindre,
Il est a desirer;
Je n'ai plus rien a craindre,
Car Dieu est mon Berger."

"My lot asks no complaining,
But joy and confidence;
I have no fear remaining,
For God is my Defence."

But the familiar words evidently brought with them a rush of
associations which was too much for Phoebe. She burst in tears, and
covered her face with her hands.

"What on earth are you crying for?" asked Rhoda.

"Thank you, my dear," said Mrs Dorothy. "The verse is enough for a
day, and the truth which is in it is enough for a life."

"I ask your pardon!" sobbed Phoebe, when she could speak at all. "But I
used to sing it--to dear father, and when he was gone I said it to poor
mother. And they are all gone now!"

"Oh, don't bother!" said Rhoda. "My papa's dead, and my mamma too; but
you'll not see me crying over it."

Rhoda pronounced the words "Pappa," and "Mamma," as is done in America
to this day.

"You never knew your parents, Mrs Rhoda," said the little old lady,
ever ready to cast oil on the troubled waters. "Phoebe, dear child,
wouldst thou wish them all back again?"

"No; oh, no! I could not be so unkind," said Phoebe, wiping her eyes.
"But only a year ago, there were seven of us. It seems so hard!"

"I say, Phoebe, if you mean to cry and take on," said Rhoda, springing
up and drinking off her tea, "you'll give me the spleen. I hate to be
hipped. I shall be off to Mrs Jane. Come along!"

"Go yourself, Mrs Rhoda, my dear, and leave your cousin to recover, if
tears be your aversion."

"Why, aren't they all our aversions?" said Rhoda, outraging grammar.
"You don't need to pretend, Mrs Dolly! I never saw you cry in my
life."

"Ah, child!" said Mrs Dorothy, as if she meant to indicate that there
had been more of her life than could be seen from Rhoda's
standing-point. "But you'll do well to take an old woman's counsel, my
dear. Run off to Mrs Jane, and divert yourself half an hour; and when
you return, your cousin will have passed her trouble, and I will have a
Story