"But, Bet," said Jane, "where are the feathers?"
"Where? child," she replied, smiling with the most provoking indifference, "where are last year's mourners? where is yesterday's sunshine, or the morning's fog?"
"Why did you do this, Bet?"
"Do you ask a reason of me?" she replied, with a tone in which sorrow and anger were equally mingled, and then putting her finger to her forehead, she added, "the light is quite out, there is not a glimmering left."
Jane felt that the poor woman was not a subject for reproach; and turning away, she said, "Aunt will be very angry."
"Yes," replied Bet, "she will weep and howl, but she should thank me for silencing some of the witnesses."
"Witnesses, Bet?"
"Yes, child, witnesses; are not moth-eaten garments and corrupted riches witnesses against the rich, the hard-hearted, and close-handed? She should not have denied a bed to my aching head and weary body. She should not have told me, that the bare ground and hard boards were soft and easy enough for a "rantipole beggar."
The recollection of the promise she had given to John now occurred to Jane, and she was deliberating whether or not to speak to Bet about it, when Mrs. Wilson, who had been absent on a visit to one of her neighbours, came in. In her passage through the kitchen, Sukey had hinted to her
