"It's only fair to tell you, Prissie," she said, addressing the tall,
gawky girl, who stood with her hands folded in front of her-- "it's
only fair to tell you that hitherto I've just made two ends meet for
one mouth alone, and how I'm to fill four extra ones the Lord knows,
but I don't. Still, I'm going to try, for it shall never be said that
Andrew Peel's children wanted bread while his sister, Rachel Peel,
lived."

"We have none of us big appetites," said Priscilla after a long,
solemn pause; "we can do with very little food-- very little. The only
one who ever is really hungry is Hattie."

Aunt Raby looked up at the pale face, for Prissie was taller than her
aunt even then, and said in a shocked voice:

"Good gracious, child! do you think I'd stint one of you? You ought
all to be hearty, and I hope you will be. No, no, it isn't that,
Prissie, but there'll be no luxuries, so don't you expect them."

"I don't want them," answered Priscilla.

The children all went to Devonshire, and Aunt Raby toiled, as perhaps
no woman had ever toiled before, to put bread into their mouths. Katie
had a fever, which made her pale and thin and took away that look of
robustness which had characterized the little Yorkshire maiden. Nobody
thought about the children's education, and they might have grown up
without any were it not for Priscilla, who taught them what she knew
herself. Nobody thought Priscilla clever; she had no brilliance about
her in any way, but she had a great gift for acquiring knowledge.
Wherever she went she picked up a fresh fact, or a fresh fancy, or a