CHAPTER TENTH.

Celia.

“One out of suits with fortune.”

“O Celia!” called Miss Betty Bishop, from her front door, “come in a minute.  I had a tea party last night, and I want to send your mother some of Sophy’s marshmallow cake.  I am so glad you happened by,” she added, as Celia came up the walk, “I was wondering how I should get it to her.”

“It is very kind of you, Miss Betty,” said Celia, following her into the dining room.

“There is no kindness about it,” asserted Miss Betty, opening the cake box.  “I am just proud of Sophy’s good things and like to make other people envy me.”

“That is not hard,” Celia answered, thinking that life seemed easy and pleasant in this snug little house.  Miss Betty had had her hard times, she knew, but the troubles of others are apt to seem easier to bear than one’s own, just as in bad weather the best walking is always on the other side of the street.

Celia was warm and tired, and the dim, cool room was grateful to her as she sat resting in silence while Miss Betty fluttered back and forth.

“Perhaps you’ll think I’d better mind my own business,” she said, returning after a moment’s absence, “but here is something I saw in the Gazette.  It might be worth trying.”

Celia knew by heart the advertisement held out to her.  “Work at home.  Fifteen dollars a week made with ease, etc.”  She accepted it meekly, however, not wishing to hurt her friend’s feelings.

“Talking about minding your own business,” continued Miss Betty, “in my experience it does not pay.  I once saw Cousin Anne Gilpin looking at taffeta at Moseley’s, and I knew as well as I knew my name that the piece she selected wouldn’t wear.  At first I thought I’d tell her; then I decided it was none of my business,—­Cousin Anne was old enough to know about the quality of silk.  And what do you think?  She sent me a waist pattern off it for a Christmas gift!”

Celia laughed as she rose to go.  “Thank you for the cake, even if it isn’t a kindness.  Mother will enjoy it,” she said.

“You haven’t noticed my hall paper,” Miss Betty remarked, escorting her visitor to the door.  “I don’t expect you to say it is pretty, for it isn’t.  I have to confess wall paper is too much for me.  This entry is so small I could not put anything big and bright on it, so I thought I was getting the very thing when I selected this,—­and what does it look like?  Nothing in the world but a clean calico dress.  Now it is done I see it would have been better with plain paper.”

“It is clean and unobtrusive,” Celia agreed, smiling.  Her smiles were a little forced this morning, it was easy to see; and Miss Betty, laying a kind hand on her arm, said, “Don’t worry too much, Celia.  I know something about hard times, and you will work through after a while.”

Celia felt the tears rising, and she left Miss Betty with an abruptness that made her ashamed of herself as she recalled it.  After the exertion of climbing the hill she stopped to rest on the rustic seat just inside her own gate.  “I wonder,” she asked herself, “if there is anything much harder to bear than seeing a house you love going to ruin and not to be able to save it.”