soft, palavering ways of the world. I say again, I don't
want to be rude, and I'm not ashamed to ask pardon if I am so; but I
know this fine young gentleman cares no more for me, nor my wheel, than
the man in the moon, and I don't like to have any one try to pass off
the show for the reality."

She fixed her large, gray eye so steadfastly on Clinton, that his cheek
flushed with the hue of resentful sensibility, and Louis thinking Miss
Thusa in a singularly repulsive mood, thought it better to depart.

"If it were not so late," said he, approaching the door, "I would ask
you for one of your interesting legends, Miss Thusa, but by the long
shadow of the well-sweep on the grass, the sun must be almost down. Why
do you never come to see us now? My mother would give you a cordial
welcome."

"That's right. I love to hear you call her mother, Louis. She is worthy
of the name. She is a lady, a noble hearted lady, that honored the
family by coming into it; and they who wouldn't own her, disgrace
themselves, not her. Go among the poor, _if_ you want to know her worth.
Hear _them_ talk--but as for my stories, I never can tell them, if there
is a scoffing tongue, and an unbelieving ear close by. I cannot feel my
_gift_. I cannot glorify the Lord who gave it. When Helen comes, bring
her to me, for I've something to tell her that I mustn't carry to my
grave. The blind child, too, I should like to see her again. I would
give one of my eyes now, to put sight into hers--both of them, I might
say, for I shan't use them much longer."

"Why, Miss Thusa, you are a _powerful_ woman yet," said Louis, measuring
her erect and commanding figure, with an upward glance. "I shouldn't
wonder if you lived to preside at all our funerals. I don't think you
ever can grow weak and infirm."

Miss Thusa shook her head, and slipped up the sleeve of her left arm,
showing the shrunken flesh and shrivelled skin.

"There's weakness and infirmity coming on," said she, "but I don't mind
it. This world isn't such a paradise, at the best, that one would want
to stay in it forever. And there's one comfort, I shall leave nobody
behind to bewail me when I'm gone."

"Ah! Miss Thusa, how unjust you are. _I_ shall bewail you; and, as for
Helen, I do believe the sweet, tender-hearted soul would cry her eyes
out. Even the lovely, blind Alice would weep for your loss. And
Mittie--but it seems to me you are not quite kind to Mittie. I should
think you had too much m