“Why, Sally, what has brought you so far from home, after dark?”

“Nothing very particular.  Only I thought I would like to drop in a little while and see how you all did.  Besides, little Thomas is sick, and I wanted to get a few herbs from you, as you always keep them.”

“What kind of herbs do you want?”

“Only a few sprigs of balm, and some woodbitney.”

“Kitty”—­bawled out this unfeeling woman to the servant in the kitchen—­“go up into the garret and bring me a handful of balm and woodbitney—­and don’t stay all night!”

“No, ma’am,” said Kitty, thinking the last part of the order most requiring a reply.

A further pause of a few minutes ensued, when Mrs. Haller, after almost struggling to keep silence, at length ventured to say, sadly, and despondingly, that she should have to move again.

“And what, in the name of heaven, Sally, are you going to move again for?  You can’t be suited much better.”

“Nor much worse, either, Mary.  But John has paid no rent, and we can’t stay any longer.  The landlord has ordered us to leave by next Wednesday, or he will throw our few things into the street.”

“Well, I declare, there is always something occurring with you to worry my mind.  Why do you constantly harass me with your troubles?  I have enough at home in my own family to perplex me, without being made to bear your burdens.  I never trouble you with my grievances, or anybody else, and do not think it kind in you to make me feel bad every time you come here.  I declare, I grow nervous whenever I see you!”

Poor Mrs. Haller, already bending beneath her burden, found this adding a weight that made it past calm endurance, and she burst into tears, and sobbed aloud.  But not the slightest impression did this exhibition of sorrow make upon Mrs. Williams.  She even reproached her with unbecoming weakness.

Although her sister had before shown indifference and great coolness, yet never had she spoken thus unkindly.  In a few moments Mrs. Haller regained her calmness, and with it came back some of her former pride of feeling.  For a moment she sat with her eyes cast upon the floor, endeavouring to keep down her struggling emotions; in the next she rose up, and looking her sister fixedly in the face, read her this impressive lesson.

“Mary, I could not have dreamed of such harshness from you!  I have thought you cold and indifferent, long; but I tried hard to believe that you were not unkind.  I have never come to see you in the last three years, that I did not go away sad in spirit.  There was something in your manner that seemed to say that you thought my presence irksome, and as you were the only friend I had to speak to about my wearying cares and anxieties, it grieved me more than I can tell to think that that only friend was growing cold—­and that friend a sister!  As things have become worse with me, your manner has grown colder, and now you