But Miss Goldthwaite did not feel satisfied, and said so to her brother at the tea-table that night.

“I’m going up to Thankful Rest, Frank, to tell Miss Hepsy to be careful of Lucy.  It is time somebody told her; she grows so thin, and, I notice, eats nothing.”

Mr. Goldthwaite’s anxiety exceeded his sister’s, if that were possible, but he said very little.  Accordingly, next afternoon Miss Goldthwaite betook herself to Thankful Rest.  Finding the garden gate locked, she went round by the back, and in the yard encountered Lucy bending under the weight of two pails of water.  She set them down on beholding Miss Goldthwaite; and Carrie noticed that her hand was pressed to her side, and that her breath came very fast.

“You are not fit to carry these, Lucy,” said she very gravely.  “Is there nobody but you?”

“I have been washing some curtains and things to-day, Miss Goldthwaite, and Aunt Hepsy thinks the water from the spring in the low meadow better for rinsing them in.”

“Does she?” said Miss Goldthwaite, and her sweet lips closed together more sternly than Lucy had ever seen them do before.

Lucy passed into the wash-house with her pails, and Miss Goldthwaite went into the house without knocking.  Miss Hepsy was making buckwheats, and greeted her visitor pleasantly enough.  She sat down in the window, turned her eyes on Miss Hepsy’s face, and said bluntly,—­

“I’m going to say something which will likely vex you, Miss Hepsy, but I can’t help it.  I’ve been wanting to say it this long time.”

Miss Hepsy did not look surprised, or even curious, she only said calmly,—­

“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve vexed me, Miss Goldthwaite, by a long chalk.”

“It’s about Lucy, Miss Hepsy,” continued Miss Goldthwaite.  “Can’t you see she’s hardly fit to do a hand’s turn at work?  I met her out there carrying a load she was no more fit to carry than that kitten.”

“Ain’t she?” inquired Miss Hepsy quite unmoved.  “What else?”

“There she is; I see her through the door.  Look at her, and see if she is well.  If she doesn’t get rest and that speedily, she’ll go into a decline, as sure as I sit here.  I had a sister,” said Carrie with a half sob, “who died of decline, and she looked exactly as Lucy does.”

Miss Hepsy walked from the dresser to the stove and back again before she spoke.  “When did you find out, Miss Goldthwaite, that Hepsy Strong could not mind her own affairs and her own folks?”

It was said in Miss Hepsy’s most disagreeable manner, which was very disagreeable indeed; but Miss Goldthwaite did not intend to be disconcerted so soon.

“You have a kind heart, I know, Miss Hepsy, though you show it so seldom.  You must know Lucy’s value by this time, and if you haven’t learned to love her, I don’t know what you are made of.  Be gentle with her, Miss Hepsy; she is very young—­and she has no mother.”