"I have not fixed them up at all. Mrs. Larkins only knows one cure for
bad children, and that is beating them, and she always blames me for
spoiling Annette, but I hardly know what to do with her. I've scolded
and scolded till my tongue is tired, whipping don't seem to do her a bit
of good, and I hate to put her out among strangers for fear that they
will not treat her right, for after all she is very near to me. She is
my poor, dead Lucy's child. Sometimes when I get so angry with her that
I feel as though I could almost shake the life out of her, the thought
of her dying mother comes back to me and it seems to me as if I could
see her eyes looking so wistfully on the child and turning so trustingly
to me and saying, 'Mother, when I am gone won't you take care of
Annette, and try to keep her with you?' And then all the anger dies out
of me. Poor child! I don't know what is going to become of her when my
head is laid low. I'm afraid she is born for trouble. Nobody will ever
put up with her as I do. She has such an unhappy disposition. She is not
like any of my children ever were."

"Yes. I've often noticed that she does seem different from other
children. She never seems light-hearted and happy."

"Yes, that is so. She reminds me so of poor Lucy before she was born.
She even moans in her sleep like she used to do. It was a dark day when
Frank Miller entered my home and Lucy became so taken up with him. It
seemed to me as if my poor girl just worshiped him. I did not feel that
he was all right, and I tried to warn my dear child of danger, but what
could an old woman like me do against him with his handsome looks and
oily tongue."

"Yes," said her neighbor soothingly, "you have had a sad time, but