as she lived."

"Was she a slave?"

"Of course, but we were good to her and took care of her till she died.
My father gave her to me when I was married. That was years and years and
_years_ before we came to this state. I was fifteen when I was married--"

"_Fifteen_," Marjorie almost shouted. That was queerer than having so
many step-mothers.

"And my husband had four children, and Lucilla was just my age, the
oldest, she was in my class at school. But we got on together and kept
house together till she married and went away. Yes, I've had things
happen to me. People called it our golden wedding when we'd been married
fifty years, and then he died, the next year, and I've lived with my
children since. I've had my ups and downs as you'll have if you live to
be most a hundred."

"You've had some _ups_ as well as downs," said Marjorie.

"Yes, I've had some good times, but not many, not many."

Marjorie answered indignantly: "I think you have good times now, you have
a good home and everybody is kind to you."

"Yes, but I can't see and Hepsie don't talk much."

"This afternoon as I was coming along I saw an old hunch-backed woman
raking sticks together to make a bonfire in a field, don't you think she
had a hard time?"

"Perhaps she liked to; I don't believe anybody made her, and she could
_see_ the bonfire."

Marjorie's eyes were pitiful; it must be hard to be blind.

"Shall I read to you now?" she asked hurriedly.

"How is the fire? Isn't it most time to put the kettle on? I shan't sleep
a wink if I don't have hasty pudding to-night and I don't like it _raw_,
either."

"It shan't be raw," laughed Marjorie, springing up. "I'll see to the fire
and fill the kettle and then I'll read to you."

The old lady fumbled at her work till Marjorie came back to her with the
family Bible in her hands.

She laid the Bible on the table and moved her chair to the table.

"Where shall I read?"

"About Jacob and all his children and all his troubles, I never get tired
of that. He said few and evil had been his days and he was more than most
a hundred."

"Well," said Marjorie, lingering over the word and slowly turning back to
Genesis. She had opened to John, she wanted to read to the grumbling old
heart that was "afraid" some of the comforting words of Jesus: "Let not
your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."

"Begin about Jacob and read right on."

With a voice that could not entirely conceal her disap