“Your pensioners may come this afternoon, and carry away their produce.”

“I will let them know immediately.”

“Will you go and tell them yourself?” he asked, rather sternly.

“I can do so with all safety; they are perfectly harmless.”  I gave him a mutinous look, but my heart fluttered; for, in spite of myself, I was very much afraid of my guardian.

“You must not go about from house to house peddling your generosity,” he said, sarcastically.

“It is your generosity, Mr. Winthrop,” I said gravely; “besides, I do not go to their houses at all.  I have only to acquaint Mrs. Blake that your gift is ready for distribution.”

“One of the servants will go to Mrs. Blake.  You will need all your strength to maintain the proprieties when your ragged crowd comes.”

“Have you ever seen the Mill Road people?” I asked abruptly.

“Probably on the streets sometimes; but are they a very distinguished looking crowd, that you ask?”

“No, but they are human beings just like ourselves, created in God’s image as clearly as the President of these United States, and some of them fulfilling the end for which they were made quite as acceptably, perhaps.”

“The President would, no doubt, feel flattered to have his name so coupled.”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Winthrop, I had forgotten your Presidents conquered the high position they fill, and are not born to it like mere puppets.”

“You will compare your humble friends with European Royalties then, I presume.”

“Oh, any one dropping into a soft nest prepared for them by others will do just as well,” I said, not very politely.

Mrs. Flaxman looked on helplessly as she sat nervously creasing her napkin; then with a sudden look of relief she said:  “Shall I despatch Esmerelda to the Mill Road?  They will have little enough time to get all that heap of good things carried away before night.”

Mr. Winthrop signified his willingness, and as she was leaving the room Mrs. Flaxman, by a look, summoned me to follow her.  Once outside she said in her gentle way:—­“I would not get arguing with Mr. Winthrop if I were you.  He is a good deal older, and, pardon me, a good deal wiser; and while he never seems to lose his own temper he very easily makes others lose theirs.”

“I will try not to,” I said, very humbly, for now that my temper had calmed I realized that I had been very foolish in saying what I did.  I went sorrowfully to my room, and, taking my knitting work, I sat down in my easy chair where I could watch them working busily at the vegetables.  But there came so many desolate, homesick fancies to keep me company, that pretty soon my eyes were so blinded with tears I could scarcely see the enlivening prospect under my windows.  Ashamed of my weakness I set myself resolutely to thinking of Daniel Blake and his heavy, sad life; of the poor barefoot children, and tired mothers on the Mill Road; and of all the sadder hearts than mine should be, until the sultry, still air, and monotonous click of the knitting needles overcame my heartaches, and I went fast asleep.  A knock at the door startled me.  Hastily opening it, I met Esmerelda, who had come to announce the arrival of her neighbors.