her work was very badly done indeed. At three o'clock Aunt Hepsy sent
her to wash her face, and gave her a long side of a sheet to hem. So
Lucy was sitting on the settle, with a very grave and
sorrowful-looking face, when Tom came in at four. His uncle had no
need of him just then, and had sent him to the house to be out of the
way. Keziah was feeding the calves, and Aunt Hepsy upstairs dressing,
if that word can be appropriately applied to the slight change her
toilet underwent in the afternoon. Tom sat down at the table in the
window, and leaning his arms upon it, looked out gloomily on the
desolate garden, over which the chill, wet mist hung like a pall.
Neither spoke for several minutes.

"How do you get on now, Lucy?" asked Tom at length. "How sober you
look. Has she been worrying you?"

"I daresay I am very stupid," said Lucy low and quietly; "but when
Aunt Hepsy talks so loud I don't know what I am doing."

Miss Hepsy entered at that moment, fortunately without having heard
Lucy's patient speech. "Don't lean your wet, dirty arms on the table,
boy," said she with a sharp glance at Tom. "If you must be in, sit on
your chair like a Christian."

Tom immediately sat up like a poker.

"What's yer uncle doin'?" was her next question.

"He's oiling waggon wheels," answered Tom, "and sent me in."

Miss Hepsy took out a very ugly piece of knitting from the