t promise this sort of thing at all, Tilly."

"Yes, don't you know? 'we stand ready to do His will.' That's in the
covenant."

"But _this_ is not His will," insisted Maria. "This is Aunt Erminia's
meanness."

"But it certainly is His will that we should do what mamma says, and
please her; and this is the work He has given us to do."

Maria's answer this time was to sit down and cry for her part. Matilda
did not join her, but stood by, patiently waiting. Maria cried and
sobbed for several minutes; then she started up and set off homewards
at a furious rate. Matilda gathered together her books and followed her
sister; trying to comfort herself with the thought that this _was_
certainly the work given them to do, and that she would try and make
the best of it.

The dinner was sorrowful enough. Maria, indeed, ate it as if
remembering it was the last dinner for some time to come that she would
find ready prepared for her. But Anne and Letty were broken down with
grief; and Mrs. Candy's endeavours to comfort them were either not the
right sort, or fell upon unready ears. Clarissa was composed as usual.

"You were late from school, Maria and Matilda," their aunt remarked,
finding Anne and Letty unmanageable. "What was the reason?"

"Tilly was talking to me," Maria said.

"You could talk on the way home, I should think. I dislike to have
dinner eaten by stages; first one set coming, and then another. I am
going to ask you to be punctual for the future. Do not be in a hurry,
Maria; there is time enough, now you are here, to eat moderately."

"I am hungry. I don't want to eat moderately, Aunt Erminia."

"As much as you wish; but you can be moderate in manner, cannot you,
even if not in quantity?"

"Nobody ever told me I eat too much, before," said Maria.

"There are a great many things that you have never been told, I
suppose?" said Clarissa, lifting her handsome eyes quietly.

"I don't care about your telling me either," said Maria.

"My dear, that is not polite," interposed her aunt. "I am sorry to hear
you speak so. Would you not like to have Issa, or any one, tell you
things that you would be the better for. You would not wish to remain
just as you are, to the end of your days?"

"It don't hurt anybody but me," said Maria.

"I beg your pardon. Everything that is not graceful and well-mannered,
on the part of people in whose company we are, hurts me and Clarissa.
It hurts me to have you bolt down your food a