her head,
saying: "Chair of my grandmother, tell me a story." The clear voice from
under the cushion said: "Listen to the story of Childe Charity."

Once upon a time, there lived in the west country a little girl who had
neither father nor mother. They both died when she was very young, and
left their daughter to the care of her uncle, who was the richest farmer
in all that country. He had houses and lands, flocks and herds, many
servants to work about his house and fields, a wife who had brought him
a great dowry, and two fair daughters.

All their neighbours, being poor, looked up to the family--insomuch that
they thought themselves great people. The father and mother were as
proud as peacocks. The daughters thought themselves the greatest
beauties in the world, and not one of the family would speak civilly to
anybody they thought low.

Now it happened that though she was their near relation, they had this
opinion of the orphan girl, partly because she had no fortune, and
partly because of her humble, kindly nature. It was said that the more
needy any creature was, the more ready was she to befriend it. So the
people of the west country called her Childe Charity, and if she had any
other name, I never heard it.

Childe Charity was thought very mean in that proud house. Her uncle
would not own her for his niece. Her cousins would not keep her company.
Her aunt sent her to work in the dairy, and to sleep in the back garret,
where they kept all sorts of lumber and dry herbs for the winter.

All the servants learned the same lesson, and Childe Charity had more
work than rest among them. All the day she scoured pails, scrubbed
dishes, and washed crockery ware. But every night she slept in the back
garret as sound as a princess could in her palace.

Her uncle's house was large and white, and stood among green meadows by
a river's side. In front it had a porch covered with a vine; behind, it
had a farmyard and high granaries. Within were two parlours for the
rich, and two kitchens for the poor, which the neighbours thought very
grand; and one day in the harvest season, when this rich farmer's corn
had been all cut down and housed, he invited them to a harvest supper.

The west-country people came in their holiday clothes. Such heaps of
cakes and cheese, such baskets of apples and barrels of ale had never
been at a feast before. They were making merry in kitchen and parlour,
when a poor old woman came to the back door