lf
drifting farther and farther from Claude; and if he felt any burning
ambition to make her his own, he certainly concealed it with admirable
art. Given up, with the most offensive magnanimity, by Stephen, and not
greatly desired by Claude,--that seemed the present status of proud Rose
Wiley of the Brier Neighborhood.

It was June, she remembered, as she leaned out of the open window; at
least it was June in Edgewood, and she supposed for convenience' sake
they called it June in Boston. Not that it mattered much what the poor
city prisoners called it. How beautiful the river would be at home, with
the trees along the banks in full leaf! How she hungered and thirsted
for the river,--to see it sparkle in the sunlight; to watch the
moonglade stretching from one bank to the other; to hear the soft lap
of the water on the shore, and the distant murmur of the falls at the
bridge! And the Brier Neighborhood would be at its loveliest, for the
wild roses were in blossom by now. And the little house! How sweet it
must look under the shade of the elms, with the Saco rippling at the
back! Was poor Rufus still lying in a darkened room, and was Stephen
nursing him,--disappointed Stephen, dear, noble old Stephen?

XII. Gold and Pinchbeck

Just then Mrs. Brooks groaned in the next room and called Rose, who went
in to minister to her real needs, or to condole with her fancied ones,
whichever course of action appeared to be the more agreeable at the
moment.

Mrs. Brooks desired conversation, it seemed, or at least she desired an
audience for a monologue, for she recognized no antiphonal obligations
on the part of her listeners. The doctors were not doing her a speck of
good, and she was just squandering money in a miserable boarding-house,
when she might be enjoying poor health in her own home; and she did n't
believe her hens were receiving proper care, and she had forgotten
to pull down the shades in the spare room, and the sun would fade the
carpet out all white before she got back, and she did n't believe Dr.
Smith's magnetism was any more use than a cat's foot, nor Dr. Robinson's
electricity any better than a bumblebee's buzz, and she had a great mind
to go home and try Dr. Lord from Bonnie Eagle; and there was a letter
for Rose on the bureau, which had come before supper, but the shiftless,
lazy, worthless landlady had forgotten to send it up till just now.

The letter was from Mite Shapley, but Rose could read only h