"Whose work is it? Which of you twisted that thing over those
feathers?" cried the lady angrily.

Isabel looked at Mary, but did not speak.

"It was me; I did it," said Mary, meekly. "The berries were so pretty,
we never saw any before. Please, ma'am, look again, and see if the
blue flowers there against the yellow don't look beautiful."

"Beautiful, indeed! What should you know of beauty, I wonder?" was the
scornful answer, for Mrs. Farnham was by no means pleased that Mary
had been forced into her company even for a single day's travel. "What
on earth possesses a child like you, brought up, no matter where, to
speak of this or that thing as pretty? What beautiful thing can you
ever have seen?"

"I have seen the sky, ma'am, when it was full of bright stars. God
lets poor people as well as rich ones look on the sky, you know; and
isn't that beautiful?"

"Indeed! You think so, then?" said the lady.

"And we have seen many, many beautiful things besides that, haven't
we, Isabel? One night, when it had been raining, in the winter--I
remember it, oh, how well--while the great trees were dripping wet,
out came the moon and stars bright, with a sharp frost, and then all
the branches were hung with ice, in the moonshine, glittering and
bending low toward the ground, just as if the starlight had all
settled on the limbs and was loading them down with brightness. Oh,