ever sass her elders," said Grandma.

But if Ann's interference was blamable, it was productive of one good
result--the matter came to Mr. Atherton's ears, and he had a stern
sense of justice when roused, and a great veneration for his mother.
His father's will should be carried out to the letter, he declared;
and it was. Grandma baked and boiled in peace, outwardly, at least,
after that.

Ann was a great comfort to her; she was outgrowing her wild,
mischievous ways, and she was so bright and quick. She promised to be
pretty, too. Grandma compared her favorably with her own grandchildren,
especially Mrs. Dorcas' eldest daughter Martha, who was nearly Ann's
age. "Marthy's a pretty little gal enough," she used to say, "but she
ain't got the _snap_ to her that Ann has, though I wouldn't tell
Atherton's wife so, for the world."

She promised Ann her gold beads, when she should be done with them,
under strict injunctions not to say anything about it till the time
came; for the others might feel hard as she wasn't her own flesh and
blood. The gold beads were Ann's ideals of beauty, and richness,
though she did not like to hear Grandma talk about being "done with
them." Grandma always wore them around her fair, plump old neck; she
had never seen her without her string of beads.

As before said, Ann was now very seldom mischievous enough to make
herself serious trouble; but, once in a while, her natural
propensities would crop out. When they did, Mrs. Dorcas was
exceedingly bitter. Indeed, her dislike of Ann was, at all times,
smouldering, and needed only a slight fanning to break out.