"We look for the arrival of Dr. Prague every day. How do you think he will meet me, aunty?"
"How should he meet you, child, but with shame and confusion of face?"
"But he was always kind to me, aunty."
"Well, he didn't do right never to send a letter to inquire after your fate, or forward your clothes and wages."
"He might have been prevented by his wife. I know she was a violent woman and had ever a dislike to me."
"Nothing should prevent a man from doing what is just and right, Annie," said Aunt Patty, in an inflexible tone; "but it is like you to think the best of people's failings, and I acknowledge it is a good way. Now, hinney, I'll make a dish of tea, and we'll have a brimming bowl of Crummie's sweet milk, with some of your favorite berries. I'm so glad! It seems a Providence that I gathered some this mornin'. I'll slab up some batter cakes; you know I'm pretty good at them; and just you light one of Rachel's candles—though it is hardly dark yet, it will make the table look so cheerful-like."
Annie did as directed, and they soon sat down to the simple meal. Aunt Patty's face was redolent with good-humor and cheerfulness, as she dished out the largest, ripest berries, and nicest browned cakes for her darling.
"Do you write your pretty stories and poetries for that city magazine now, hinney?" she asked, as they discussed their meal.
"Yes, aunty, and I have brought several numbers for your perusal. I still want to be famous, aunty, though I once thought I didn't care for anything more in this world; but that was in a foolish time, and is past by now. Mr. Grey says it is better to be good than great; but if one can be both, why, better still, I fancy. And I know I feel happy when I'm teaching those poor little children to read and love each other, and grow up to be blessings to their parents. This is doing good, Mr. Grey says; but this restless heart of mine is not filled, is not content. It feels there are other faculties, lying dormant and unemployed. The editors of this magazine have offered two prizes,—one for the best tale, the other for the best poem,—and I'm going to strive to win them. The money would make you very comfortable for life, aunty; and you have done so much for me I want to repay some of your kindness if I can."
"Dear heart!" said the old woman, tearfully, "what have I ever done for you that is not already ten-fold repaid by seeing your bright eyes, and feeling that you love your old aunty?"