stay, Lenora, but you mustn't talk bad things to me, for I can't bear
it."

"Bad things!" repeated Lenora; "who ever heard me talk bad things!
What do you mean?"

"I mean," said Carrie, "that you must not talk about your mother as
you sometimes do. It is wicked."

"Why, you dear little thing," answered Lenora, "don't you know that
what would be wicked for you isn't wicked for me?"

"No, I do not know so," answered Carrie; "but I know I wouldn't talk
about my mother as you do about yours for anything."

"Bless your heart," said Lenora, "haven't you sense enough to see that
there is a great difference between Mrs. Hamilton first, and Mrs.
Hamilton second? Now, I'm not naturally bad, and if I had been the
daughter of Mrs. Hamilton first instead of Widow Carter's young one,
why, I should have been as good as you--no, not as good as _you_, for
you don't know enough to be bad--but as good as Mag, who, in my
opinion, has the right kind of goodness, for all I used to hate her
so."

"Hate Margaret!" said Carrie, opening her eyes to their utmost extent.
"What did you hate Margaret for?"

"Because I didn't know her, I suppose," returned Lenora; "for now I
like her well enough--not quite as well as I do you, perhaps; and yet,
when I see you bear mother's abuse so meekly, I positively hate you