tell you that! Poor Ad'line always give me a feelin' as if I was a hen
that has hatched ducks. I never knew exactly how to do for her, she
seemed to see everything so different, and Lord only knows how I worry
about her; and al'ays did, thinkin' if I'd seen clearer how to do my
duty her life might have come out sort of better. And it's the same
with little Anna; not that she's so prone to evil as some; she's a
lovin'-hearted child if ever one was born, but she's a piece o'
mischief; and it may come from her father's folks and their ways o'
livin', but she's made o' different stuff, and I ain't fit to make
answer for her, or for fetchin' of her up. I come to ask if you won't
kindly advise what's best for her. I do' know's anything's got to be
done for a good spell yet. I mind what you say about lettin' her run
and git strong, and I don't check her. Only it seemed to me that you
might want to speak about her sometimes and not do it for fear o'
wronging my judgment. I declare I haven't no judgment about what's
reasonable for her, and you're her guardeen, and there's the money her
father's sister has sent her; 't would burn my fingers to touch a cent
of it, but by and by if you think she ought to have schoolin' or
anything else you must just say so."

"I think nothing better could have been done for the child than you
have done," said Dr. Leslie warmly. "Don't worry yourself, my good
friend. As for books, she will take to them of her own accord quite
soon enough, and in such weather as this I think one day in the fields
is worth five in the school-house. I'll do the best I can for her."

Mrs. Thacher's errand had not yet been told, though she fumbled in her
pocket and walked to the open window to look for the neighbor's wagon
by which she was to find conveyance home, before she ventured to say
anything more. "I don't know's my time'll come for some years yet,"
she said at length, falteringly, "but I have had it borne in upon my
mind a good many ways this summer that I ain't going to stay here a
gre't while. I've been troubled considerable by the same complaints
that carried my mother off, and I'm built just like her. I don't feel
no concern for myself, but it's goin' to leave the child without
anybody of her own to look to. There's plenty will befriend her just
so long as she's got means, and the old farm will sell for something
besides what she's got already, but that ain't everything, and I can't
seem to make up my mind