cake, and milk puddings were marvels
of lightness. Martha, in particular, could wean the novitiate Shaker
from a too riotous devotion to meat-eating better than most people, for
every dish she sent to the table was delicate, savory, and attractive.

Dear, patient, devoted Martha! How Susanna learned to love her as
they worked together in the big sunny, shining kitchen, where the
cooking-stove as well as every tin plate and pan and spoon might have
served as a mirror! Martha had joined the Society in her mother's arms,
being given up to the Lord and placed in "the children's order" before
she was one year old.

"If you should unite with us, Susanna," she said one night after the
early supper, when they were peeling apples together, "you'd be thankful
you begun early with your little Sue, for she's got a natural attraction
to the world, and for it. Not but that she's a tender, loving, obedient
little soul; but when she's among the other young ones, there's a
flyaway look about her that makes her seem more like a fairy than a
child."

"She's having rather a hard time learning Shaker ways, but she'll do
better in time," sighed her mother. "She came to me of her own accord
yesterday and asked: 'Bettent I have my curls cut off, Mardie?'"

"I never put that idea into her head," Martha interrupted. "She's a
visitor and can wear her hair as she's been brought up to wear it."

"I know, but I fear Sue was moved by other than religious reasons. 'I
get up so early, Mardie,' she said, 'and it takes so long to unsnarl and
untangle me, and I get so hot when I'm helping in the hayfield, and then
I have to be curled for dinner, and curled again for supper, and so it
seems like wasting both our times!' Her hair would be all the stronger
for cutting, I thought, as it's so long for her age; but I could n't
put the shears to it when the time came, Martha. I had to take her to
Eldress Abby. She sat up in front of the little looking-glass as still
as a mouse, while the curls came off, but when the last one fell into
Abby's apron, she suddenly put her hands over her face and cried:
'Oh, Mardie, we shall never be the same togedder, you and I, after
this!'--She seemed to see her 'little past,' her childhood, slipping
away from her, all in an instant. I did n't let her know that I cried
over the box of curls last night!"

"You did wrong," rebuked Martha. "You should n't make an idol of your
child or your child's beauty."

"You don't think