ust
by looking at her."

"Then what does she think of me?" asked Mrs. Austin, sharply.

"That you are a good, dear old nurse," I said, with a sudden revulsion
of feeling, jumping up and throwing my arms about her; "only a little,
very little, bit fonder of Evelyn than me. But that is natural. She is
so much prettier and older than I am, and takes better care of her
clothes. Besides, I am cross about dressing, I know I am; and afterward
I am always so sorry."

"My Miriam always had a good heart," said Mrs. Austin, quite subdued,
and returning my embraces. "And now let me call Charity to wash and comb
and dress you before your mamma comes home. You know she always likes to
see you looking nicely. But soon you must learn to do this for yourself;
Charity will be wanted for other uses."

"I know, I know," I cried, jumping up and down; "Evelyn told me all
about it yesterday," and the flush of joy mounted to my brow. "Won't we
be too happy, Mrs. Austin, when our own dear little brother or sister
comes?" And I clasped my hands across my bare neck, hugging myself in
ecstasy.

"I don't know, child; there's no telling. What fingers" (holding them up
wofully to the light); "every color of the rainbow! That green stain
will be very hard to get out of your nails. How careless you are,
Miriam! But, as I was saying, there's no telling what to expect from an
unborn infant. It's wrong to speculate on such uncertainties; it's
tempting Providence, Miriam. In the first place, it may be deformed, I
shouldn't wonder--that lame boy about so much--short of one leg, at
least."

"Deformed! O Mrs. Austin! how dreadful! I never thought of that." And I
began to shiver before her mysterious suggestions.

"Or it may be a poor, senseless idiot like Johnny Gibson. _He_ comes
here for broken victuals constantly, you know, and your mamma sees him."

"Mrs. Austin, don't talk so, for pity's sake," catching at her gown
wildly; "don't! you frighten me to death."

"Or it may be (stand still directly, Miriam, and let met get this paint
off your ear)--or it may be, for aught we know or can help, born with a
hard, proud, wicked heart, that may show itself in bad actions--cruelty,
deceit, or even--" she hesitated, drearily.

"Mrs. Austin, _sha'n't_ say such things about that poor, innocent little
thing," I cried out, stamping my foot impatiently, "that isn't even
born."

"Well, well; there's no use rejoicing too soon, that's all I mean to
say. And w