least,
after that.

Ann was a great comfort to her; she was outgrowing her wild,
mischievous ways, and she was so bright and quick. She promised to
be pretty, too. Grandma compared her favorably with her own
grandchildren, especially Mrs. Dorcas's eldest daughter Martha, who
was nearly Ann's age. "Marthy's a pretty little gal enough," she used
to say, "but she ain't got the snap to her that Ann has, though I
wouldn't tell Atherton's wife so, for the world."

She promised Ann her gold beads, when she should be done with them,
under strict injunctions not to say anything about it till the time
came; for the others might feel hard as she wasn't her own flesh and
blood. The gold beads were Ann's ideals of beauty and richness, though
she did not like to hear Grandma talk about being "done with them."
Grandma always wore them around her fair, plump old neck; she had
never seen her without her string of beads.

As before said, Ann was now very seldom mischievous enough to
make herself serious trouble; but, once in a while, her natural
propensities would crop out. When they did, Mrs. Dorcas was
exceedingly bitter. Indeed, her dislike of Ann was, at all times,
smouldering, and needed only a slight fanning to break out.

One stormy winter day Mrs. Dorcas had been working till dark, making
candle-wicks. When she came to get tea, she tied the white fleecy
rolls together, a great bundle of them, and hung them up in the
cellar-way, over the stair, to be out of the way. They were extra fine
wicks, being made of flax for the company candles. "I've got a good
job done," said Mrs. Dorcas, surveying them complacently. Her husband
had gone to Boston, and was not coming home till the next day, so she
had had a nice chance to work at them, without as much interruption as
usual.

Ann, going down the cellar stairs, with a lighted candle, after some
butter for tea, spied the beautiful rolls swinging overhead. What
possessed her to, she could not herself have told--she certainly had
no wish to injure Mrs. Dorcas's wicks--but she pinched up a little end
of the fluffy flax and touched her candle to it. She thought she would
see how that little bit would burn off. She soon found out. The flame
caught, and ran like lightning through the whole bundle. There was a
great puff of fire and smoke, and poor Mrs. Dorcas's fine candle-wicks
were gone. Ann screamed, and sprang downstairs. She barely escaped the
whole blaze coming in her face.

"What'