like a doll," said Mrs. Diantha, coolly.

"Well, she certainly isn't," said Grandmother
Wheeler. "Nobody would ever take her for a doll
as far as looks or dress are concerned. She may be
GOOD enough. I don't deny that Amelia is a good
little girl, but her looks could be improved on."

"Looks matter very little," said Mrs. Diantha.

"They matter very much," said Grandmother
Wheeler, pugnaciously, her blue eyes taking on a
peculiar opaque glint, as always when she lost her
temper, "very much indeed. But looks can't be
helped. If poor little Amelia wasn't born with pretty
looks, she wasn't. But she wasn't born with such
ugly clothes. She might be better dressed."

"I dress my daughter as I consider best," said
Mrs. Diantha. Then she left the room.

Grandmother Wheeler sat for a few minutes, her
blue eyes opaque, her little pink lips a straight line;
then suddenly her eyes lit, and she smiled. "Poor
Diantha," said she, "I remember how Henry used
to like Lily Jennings's mother before he married
Diantha. Sour grapes hang high." But Grand-
mother Wheeler's beautiful old face was quite soft
and gentle. From her heart she pitied the reacher
after those high-hanging sour grapes, for Mrs. Dian-