dispatched the letters asking that one of her sisters be allowed to come
to her. The poor child pines for a home face; it is natural; thee sees
she has been long absent from her people."

"Surely it is almost time to get some reply," said Kitty, as she kissed
the dear old Quakeress, for Kitty was one of Mrs. Effingham's
grandchildren, although her mother had been read out of meeting for
having married one of the "world's people." "I doubt that Clarissa will
shortly begin to worry and grow ill again unless kind Providence sends
some tidings."

"Nay, nay," said grandma gently. "If thee had half Clarissa's patience
it would be thy gain, Kitty."

Grandma was such a quaint, pretty picture, as she sat in her
straight-backed chair, with her Quaker cap and steel-gray silk gown, her
sleeves elbow-cut, displaying still plump and rounded arms (although she
was nearly seventy), and her smooth white fingers flew rapidly in and
out of the blue yarn as she resumed her knitting of Peter's stocking.
Peter was rather a godsend to grandma in the matter of stockings; no
wool that was ever carded could resist his vigorous onslaughts, and it
kept grandma busy all her spare moments to supply his restless feet with
warm covering.

"Patience," echoed Kitty, with a comical sigh. "Nay, grandma, give me a
few more years without it."

"Fie," said grandma, gazing at the bright face with her indulgent eye;
"eighteen is full late to begin to learn to conform to thy elders. I was
married and the twins were born at thy age, Kitty."