yourself. You are quite childish.
You cannot know what real affliction means. Now, if you had lost
a--a---- If, my poor woman, you had lost a dear little dog!"

"Is it a dog?" gasped Mrs. Ricketts, for it was she. "Is it a dog? Oh,
my word! Much you know about 'flictions and such-like! Let me go to the
house, ma'am. It isn't to you as I has come to tell my tale."

"Then let me inform you that you are going to tell it to no one else.
Here I stand, and here I remain until you choose to explain to me the
reason of your loud bursts of uncontrollable grief. During the illness
of its master I am the mistress here, and either you speak to me or you
go home."

Mrs. Ricketts had by this time so far restrained her sobs as to be able
to take a long and very acute glance at the lady in question. Doubtless
she was face to face with the formidable Mrs. Cameron, that terrible
personage who had got her Maggie dismissed, and who had locked up poor
darling Miss Polly for days in her bedroom.

There was no one, perhaps, in the world whom Mrs. Ricketts more
cordially disliked than this good lady, but all the same, it was now her
policy to propitiate her. She smoothed, therefore, her brow, dried her
eyes, and, with a profound courtesy, began her tale.

"Ef you please, ma'am, it's this way; it's my character that's at stake.
I always was, and always will be, honest of the honest. 'Ard I works,
ma'am, and the bread of poverty I eats, but honest I am, and honest I
brings up those fatherless lambs, my children."

Mrs. Cameron waved one of her fat hands impressively.

"Pardon me, my good woman. I am really not interested in your family.
Pray come to the point, and then go home."

"To the p'int, ma'am? Oh, yes, I'll come to the p'int. This is the p'int
ef you please, ma'am," and she suddenly thrust, almost into Mrs.
Cameron's dazzled face, the splendid gleam and glitter of a large unset
diamond. "This is the p'int, ma'am; this is what's to take my character
away, and the bread out of the mouths of my innocent children."

Mrs. Cameron never considered herself a worldly woman. She was
undoubtedly a very Christian-minded, charitable, good woman, but all the
same, she loved fine houses and big dinners and rich apparel, and above
all things she adored jewelry. Flowers--that is, natural flowers--had
never yet drawn a smile out of her. She had never pined for them or
valued them, but jewels, ah! they were worth possessing. She quite
gasped no