of brown sugar, for Mrs. Church was determined
to spend no money, if possible, until Mrs. Hopkins paid the debt which
had been due on the previous day. It was one thing, therefore, for Mrs.
Church's debtors to eat good roast beef and good boiled pork and good
apple-pudding, but it was another thing for Mrs. Church to tolerate it.
She fixed her eyes now on Susy in a very meaning way. Susy had never
appealed to the old lady's fancy, and she appealed less than ever
to-day.

"Come right over here, little girl," said Mrs. Church, waving a thin arm
and motioning Susy to approach.

Susy Hopkins, remembering her blouse and her proud position as a member
of the Cabinet of the Queen of the Wild Irish Girls, felt for a moment
inclined to disobey; but Mrs. Church had a certain power about her, and
she impelled Susy to come forward.

"Stand just in front of me," she said, "and let me look at you. My word!
I never did see a more elegant figure. Don't you think that you are
something like a peacock--fine above and ugly below?"

"No, I don't, Aunt Church," said Susy.

"Tut, tut, child! Don't give me any of your sauce, but just answer a
straight question. Where did you get that bodice? It is singularly fine
for a little girl like you. Where did you get it?"

"I don't think it is any business of yours, Aunt Church."

"Susy!" said her mother in a voice of terror. "Don't talk like that. You
know very well you mustn't be rude to Aunt Church.--Don't mind her,
aunt; she is a very naughty girl."

"I am not, mother," said Susy; "and it's awfully unkind of you to say
it of me. I am not a bit rude. But it is not Aunt Church's affair. I
didn't steal the blouse; I came by it honestly, and it wasn't bought out
of any of Aunt Church's money."

"That remains to be proved," said Mrs. Church. "Susan Hopkins, I don't
like you nor your ways. When I was young I knew a little girl, and you
remind me of her. She had a face summat like yours, no way pretty, but
what you'd call boastful and conceited; and she thought a sight of
herself, and put on gay dress that she had no call to wear. She strutted
about among the neighbors, and they said, 'Fine feathers make fine
birds,' and laughed at her past bearing. But she didn't mind, because
she was a little girl that was meant to go to the bad--and she did. She
learned to be a thief, and she broke her mother's heart, and she was
locked up in prison. In prison she had to wear the ugly convict-dress
with th