household. The mother was a timid, colorless, docile creature,
but Patience nevertheless was a sparkling, bright-eyed baby, who
speedily became the very centre of the universe to the older
child. So the months and years wore on, drearily enough, until,
when Patience was nine, the third Mrs. Baxter succumbed after the
manner of her predecessors, and slipped away from a life that had
grown intolerable. The trouble was diagnosed as "liver
complaint," but scarcity of proper food, no new frocks or kind
words, hard work, and continual bullying may possibly have been
contributory causes. Dr. Perry thought so, for he had witnessed
three most contented deaths in the Baxter house. The ladies were
all members of the church and had presumably made their peace
with God, but the good doctor fancied that their pleasure in
joining the angels was mild compared with their relief at parting
with the Deacon.

"I know I hadn't ought to put the care on you, Waitstill, and you
only thirteen," poor Mrs. Baxter sighed, as the young girl was
watching with her one night when the end seemed drawing near.
"I've made out to live till now when Patience is old enough to
dress herself and help round, but I'm all beat out and can't try
any more."

"Do you mean I'm to take your place, be a mother to Patience, and
keep house, and everything?" asked Waitstill quaveringly.

"I don't see but you'll have to, unless your father marries
again. He'll never hire help, you know that!"

"I won't have another mother in this house," flashed the girl.