But these were of daily, almost hourly occurrence. Sara's larger,
broader nature tried to ignore the petty pin-pricks of her stepmother's
narrower, more fretful one; but at times her whole soul rose up in
rebellion, and she flashed out some fiercely sarcastic or denunciatory
answer that reduced the latter to tears and moans, which in time forced
from the girl concessions and apologies.

To do the little woman justice, she was often sorely tried by Sara's
grand, self-contained airs,--unconscious as they were,--and by her
obliviousness to many of the trivialities and practicalities of life.
Mrs. Olmstead loved gossip, and Sara loathed it. The woman delighted in
going to tea-drinkings, and afterward relating in detail every dish
served (with its recipe), and every dress worn upon the momentous
occasion; the girl could not remember a thing she had eaten an hour
later, nor a single detail of any costume.

"But, Sairay," her mother would urge, after the former's visits to Miss
Prue or Mrs. Norris, places to which she was seldom asked herself,
except with great formality once a year perhaps; for the early and life-
long friendship these families had extended to Sara's own mother was not
so freely bestowed upon her successor. "But, Sairay, think! You say Mis'
Jedge Peters from Weskisset was there; _kain't_ you tell what she
wore? Was it black silk, or green cashmere? and was the sleeves coat, or
mutton-leg? and do think if she had on a cap, kain't you?"

"I know she looked very nice," Sara would reply helplessly; "but,
really, I can't think, mother. You see, she was telling about the work
in the hospitals,--the Flower Mission, they call it,--and I was so
interested I couldn't take my eyes off her face."