The foster-sisters

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

"Anyhow, they preach to the poor colliers and miners, that nobody had thought of before, any more than if they were brutes," said Mary, with spirit. "My aunt says, that there at Kingswood, where all sorts of wickedness, drinking, swearing, fighting, and what not used to go on, you hardly hear a bad word, or see a drunken person nowadays. The very women mend their own and their children's clothes, and strive to keep their houses neat, and the men sing psalms, and hymns, when they go to and from their work, instead of wicked vile songs, as they used to."

"The Methodists bewitch them," said Martha. "There was John Bristate's wife—she used to be the greatest scold in the Sandgate—and made naught of heaving the cat at John's head, and now she is like a lamb. John says it makes him just feared at times when he comes in late, to find his supper waiting by the fire, and to see Sally knitting, and the poor beast of a cat that used to dread her very step sitting in her lap or on her gown."

"If he would rather have a cat thrown at his head than to see it sitting on his wife's gown, he is not of my mind," said Mrs. Thorpe dryly. "I like a cat well enough, but not in that way, and I should say it would be altogether more healthful to the cat."

"I heard a gentleman—it was Lord Bulmer—say that some preacher declared that he knew his sins were forgiven," said I. "And Mrs. Bunnell had some talk with Mr. Cheriton about the matter, and she said it was in the prayer-book."

"I don't think that can be, and it does seem great presumption in a common man to pretend to know that his sins are forgiven," observed Mrs. Thorpe. "I have no spite against the Methodists, but the good old Church of England is good enough for me, as it was for my father before me, and so it ought to be for you, Mary Lee. Don't you be led away by any new-fangled notions, but do your duty toward God and your neighbor according to the catechism and you will be all right, never fear."

Mary's pale cheek flushed, and she looked as if she would like to say more, but as we all rose from the table at that moment to return thanks she had no opportunity. My own curiosity was greatly roused by what I had heard of these strange people, and I made up my mind that I would question Mary, and find out more of what her aunt had told her.

We always went out for a walk on Sunday afternoon, and not uncommonly a friend or two of Mrs. Thorpe's would drop in for a cup of tea, a chat, and a game or two at cards or backgammon, followed by a little supper. Mrs. Thorpe, I am sure, saw no harm in these things, or she would never have done them, for she was not one to go against her conscience in anything.

At the same time, she was greatly shocked and distressed at finding Amabel and me working at our embroidery frames one Sunday afternoon. She exacted from us a promise that we would never do so again, and told us a tragical tale, of a maid of honor of Queen Elizabeth's who had died from pricking her finger with a needle while sewing on Sunday, adding that she knew the story was true, for she had seen a wax-work image of this wicked young lady when she was in London, with the blood running down her finger as natural as life.

I don't think we were as much impressed with this tale as Mrs. Thorpe intended. Being a maid of honor to Queen Elizabeth, we thought the judgment might have come upon her for that reason, and not because she sewed on Sunday, for we had been taught to regard good Queen Bess as the personation of all that was evil in women.

But I am getting a long way from that memorable Sunday.