theories, that these poplars were not real trees. Even the changing
of the leaves did not disarm her suspicion. Sometimes she dug
surreptitiously around the roots with a pointed stick to see what
she could discover for or against it, and always with a fearful
excitement of daring, lest she topple the tree over, perchance,
and destroy herself and Aunt Camilla and the house.

To-day Lucina went up the walk between the poplars, recognizing them
as one recognizes friends oftentimes, not as their true selves, but
as our conception of them, and knocked one little ladylike knock with
the brass knocker. She never entered her aunt Camilla's house without
due ceremony.

Aunt Camilla's old woman, who lived with her, and performed her
household work as well as any young one, answered the knock and bade
her enter. Lucina followed this portly old-woman figure, moving with
a stiff wabble of black bombazined hips, like some old domestic fowl,
into the east room, which was the sitting-room.

The old woman's name was lost to memory, inasmuch as she had been
known simply as 'Liza ever since her early childhood, and had then
hailed from the town farm, with her parentage a doubtful matter.

There was about this woman, who had no kith nor kin, nor equal
friends, nor money, nor treasures, nor name, and scarce her own
individuality in the minds of others, a strange atmosphere of
silence, broken seldom by uncouth, stammering speech, which always
intimidated the little Lucina. She had, however, a way of expanding,
after long stares at her, into sudden broad smiles which relieved the
little girl's apprehension; and, too, her rusty black bombazine