and
used to invent stories about it. She did not write anything in these
days, however, but stored up impressions which were afterwards of
inestimable value to her. The smooth grey boles of the beeches, the
green down on the larches, the dark, blue-green crown which the Scotch
fir held up, as if to accentuate the light blue of the sky, and the
wonderful ruddy-gold tones that shone on its trunk as the day
declined; these things she felt and absorbed rather than saw and
noted, but because she felt them they fired her soul, and resolved
themselves into poetic expression eventually.

They dined early, and on the hot afternoons they sat and worked
together after dinner, Beth sewing and Aunt Victoria knitting, until
it was cool enough to go out. Aunt Victoria was teaching Beth how to
make some new underclothing for herself, to Beth's great delight. All
of her old things that were not rags were patches, and the shame of
having them so was a continual source of discomfort to her; but Aunt
Victoria, when she discovered the state of Beth's wardrobe, bought
some calico out of her own scanty means, and set her to work. During
these long afternoons, they had many a conversation that Beth
recollected with pleasure and profit. She often amused and interested
the old lady; and sometimes she drew from her a serious reprimand or a
solemn lecture, for both of which she was much the better. Aunt
Victoria was severe, but she was sympathetic, and she was just; she
seldom praised, but she showed that she was satisfied, and that was
enough for Beth; and she never scolded or punished, only spoke
seriously when she was displeased, and then Beth was overwhelmed.

One very hot day when they were working together, Aunt Victoria
sitting on a high-backed chair with her back to the open doors because
the light was too much for her eyes, and Beth sitting beside her on a
lower seat, but so that she could look up at her, and also out into
the garden, it occurred to her that once on a time, long ago, Aunt
Victoria must have been young, and she tried artfully to find out
first, if Aunt Victoria remembered the fact, and secondly, what little
girls were like at that remote period.

"Was your mamma like mine, Aunt Victoria?" she asked.

Aunt Victoria had just made a mistake in her knitting, and answered
shortly: "No, child."

"When you were all children," Beth pursued, "did you play together?"

"Not much," Aunt Victoria answered grimly.

"Did you qu