des, I suppose that persons of a certain temperament never utter
a more ungracious "No," than when they are longing all the time to
say "Yes."

So she turned round on the lower step to Kenneth, when he had asked
that grave, sweet question of the Lord's, and said perversely,--

"I thought you did not believe in any brokering kind of business.
It's all there,--for everybody. Why should I set up to fetch and
carry?"

She did not look in his face as she said it; she was not audacious
enough to do that; she poked with the stick of her sunshade between
the uneven bricks of the sidewalk, keeping her eyes down, as if she
watched for some truth she expected to pry up. But she only wedged
the stick in so that she could not get it out; and Kenneth Kincaid
making her absolutely no answer at all, she had to stand there,
growing red and ashamed, held fast by her own silly trap.

"Take care; you will break it," said Kenneth, quietly, as she gave
it a twist and a wrench. And he put out his hand, and took it from
hers, and drew gently upward in the line in which she had thrust it
in.

"You were bearing off at an angle. It wanted a straight pull."

"I never pull straight at anything. I always get into a crook,
somehow. You didn't answer me, Mr. Kincaid. I didn't mean to be
rude--or wicked. I didn't mean--"

"What you said. I know that; and it's no use to answer what people
don't mean. That makes the crookedest crook of all."

"But I think I did mean it partly; only not contrarimindedly. I do
mean that I have no business--yet awhile. It would only be--Migging
at gospel!"

And with this remarkable application of her favorite illustrative
expression, she made a friendly but abrupt motion of leave-taking,
and went into the house.

Up into her own room, in the third story, where the old furniture
was, and no "fadging,"--and sat down, bonnet, gloves, sunshade, and
all, in her little cane rocking-chair by the window.

Helena was down in the pink room, listening with charmed ears to the
grown up young-ladyisms of her elder sisters and Glossy Megilp.

Desire sat still until the dinner-bell rang, forgetful of her dress,
forgetful of all but one thought that she spoke out as she rose at
last at the summons to take off her things in a hurry,--

"I wonder,--I _wonder_--if I shall ever live anything all straight
out!"

XIII.

PIECES OF WORLDS.

Mr. Dickens never put a truer thought into any book, than he put at
the begin