"Always."
"Has your mother made her jelly?"
"She has n't said."
"She always had the knack o' writin' letters with nothin' in 'em. What 's Mark broke sence I 've been sick?"
"Nothing at all, aunt Miranda."
"Why, what 's the matter with him? Gittin' lazy, ain't he? How 's John turnin' out?"
"He 's going to be the best of us all."
"I hope you don't slight things in the kitchen because I ain't there. Do you scald the coffee-pot and turn it upside down on the winder-sill?"
"Yes, aunt Miranda."
"It's always 'yes' with you, and 'yes' with Jane," groaned Miranda, trying to move her stiffened body; "but all the time I lay here knowin' there 's things done the way I don't like 'em."
There was a long pause, during which Rebecca sat down by the bedside and timidly touched her aunt's hand, her heart swelling with tender pity at the gaunt face and closed eyes.
"I was dreadful ashamed to have you graduate in cheesecloth, Rebecca, but I could n't help it nohow. You 'll hear the reason some time, and know I tried to make it up to ye. I 'm afraid you was a laughin'-stock!"
"No," Rebecca answered. "Ever so many people said our dresses were the very prettiest; they looked
