hought of her sister.

'It is difficult to judge,' I returned, hesitating a little. 'You must
remember this is only my second visit, and I have not made much way with
her. She is in a state of bodily and mental discomfort very painful to
witness. If I am not mistaken, she is driving herself half-crazy with
introspection and self-will. You must not give way to this morbid desire
to increase her own wretchedness. She needs firmness as well as
kindness.'

Miss Locke looked at me wistfully a moment.

'What am I to do? She would fret herself into a fever if I crossed her
whims. Directly you have left the house she will be asking for that wire
blind again, though it would do her poor eyes good to see the thrushes
feeding on the lawn, and there is the little robin that comes to us every
winter and taps at the window for crumbs; but she would shut them all
out,--birds, and sunshine, and flowers.'

'Just as she would shut out her Father's love, if she could; but it is
all round her, and no inward or outward darkness can hinder that. Miss
Locke, you must be very firm. You must not move the flowers or replace
the blind on any pretext whatever. She must be comforted in spite of
herself. She reminds me of some passionate child who breaks all its
toys because some wish has been denied. We are sorry for the child's
disappointment, but a wise parent would inflict punishment for the fit
of passion.'

Miss Locke sighed; her mouth twitched with repressed emotion. She was
evidently an affectionate, reticent woman, who found it difficult to
express her feelings.

'I am keeping you standing all this time,' she said apologetically, 'and
I might have asked you to sit down a minute in our little kitchen. Let me
pour you out a cup of tea, Miss Garston. Kitty and I were just going to
begin.'

I accepted this offer, as I thought Miss Locke evidently wanted to speak
to me. She seemed pleased at my acquiescence, and told Kitty to stay with
her aunt Phoebe a few minutes.

'I have baked a nice hot cake with currants in it, Kitty,' she said
persuasively, 'and you shall have your share, hot and buttered, if you
will be patient and wait a little.'

'She is a good little thing,' I observed, as the child reluctantly
withdrew to her dreary post, after a longing look at the table, while
Miss Locke placed a rocking-chair with a faded green cushion by the fire,
and opened the oven door to inspect the cake. 'It is dull work for the
little creature t