curls, that one longed to twine round one's fingers."

"She was pretty, then?" I hazarded more timidly.

"Pretty! she was downright beautiful. Miss Carrie reminds me of her
sometimes, but she is not near so handsome as poor Miss Rose. She
used to come here sometimes with her mother, and she and master would
sit under that mulberry tree. I can see her now walking over the
grass in her white gown, with some apple blossoms in her hand,
talking and laughing with him. It was a sad day when she lay in the
fever, and did not know him, for all his calling to her 'Rose! Rose!'
I was with her when she died, and I thought he would never hold up
his head again."

"Poor Uncle Geoffrey! But he is cheerful and contented now."

"But there, I must not stand gossiping," continued Deborah,
interrupting herself. "I have only brought you the keys, and wish to
know what preserve you and Mr. Allan might favor for tea."

But here I caught hold, not of the key-basket, but of the hard, work-worn
hand that held it.

"Oh, Deborah! do be good to us!" I broke out: "we will trouble you
and Martha as little as possible, and we are all going to put our
shoulders to the wheel and help ourselves; and we have no home but
this, and no one to take care of us but Uncle Geoffrey."

"I don't know but I will make some girdle cakes for tea," returned
Deborah, in the most imperturbable voice; and she turned herself