"You are so very suddenly careful of me," replied Mrs Herbert, smiling; "is this the last thing you learned at the Hall?"
"No," answered Amy; "only Stephen says you look pale, and all the village people say so too; but I don't think you are so now."
"I am much better to-night, my dear child," said Mrs Herbert. "You must not listen to what every one says, and get frightened without reason."
Amy's spirits were revived in a moment, and she ran gaily into the cottage, and in a very short time was seated by the fireside with her mamma, recounting the incidents of the day; Miss Cunningham, and her behaviour, her aunt's anger, and her own conversations with Dora and old Stephen, furnishing quite sufficient materials for a long story. "There were one or two things that my aunt told me, which I could not quite understand," she said, after having repeated a great portion of the lecture she had received. "What did she mean, mamma, by my knowing my position, and speaking of me as if I were not one of the family? I am her niece."
"Yes," replied Mrs Herbert; "but people think differently about their families. Some persons consider that every one who is any relation at all forms one of the family, and others only call those so who are their own children."
"But my position," repeated Amy; "why is my position different from my cousins? You are a lady, and papa is a gentleman."
"Compare this cottage with Emmerton," replied Mrs Herbert, "and then you will see the difference, and why people in general would think more of your cousins than of you."
A sudden pang shot through Amy's heart. "Dear mamma!" she exclaimed, "I wish you would not say so."
"Why not, my dear? why must not that be said which is true?"
"It makes me uncomfortable," said Amy, "and wicked too, I am afraid. If papa were to come home, should we be able to live in a larger house?"