[CHAPTER XIII.]
My friend, your house is made of glass,
As any one may see,
I pray you, therefore, have a care,
How you throw stones at me.
Culver Allen.
"If you please miss," said Betsy, entering Amy's room, where Mabel was sitting, "will you go to Miss Lucy's room for she is crying and sobbing like any thing, and she has got the door locked and will not open it—something must be the matter."
"I will go to her directly, and will soon be back, love," said Mabel, kissing her sister, who never saw her leave without regret.
She then went to Lucy's room, and tapping gently, demanded admittance.
After a short pause the door was opened by Lucy, whose eyes were swollen with weeping, and her cheeks wet with the tears which were flowing quickly. She had been lying on the bed, and, content with letting Mabel in, she threw herself again upon it hastily, rubbing her eyes with her pocket-handkerchief, though the tears burst forth afresh on every attempt to clear them away.