"I say it's a poor kind of world, and I'm sick of it! One may slave, and slave one's life out for other people, and what thanks do you get? I'm sick of it."
"There's a little body up-stairs, or I'm much mistaken, who will give you very sincere thanks for every kindness shown her."
Miss Fortune tossed her head, and brushing the refuse beans into her lap, she pushed back her chair with a jerk, to go to the fire with them.
"Much you know about her, Miss Alice! Thanks, indeed! I haven't seen the sign of such a thing since she's been here, for all I have worked and worked, and had plague enough with her, I am sure. Deliver me from other people's children, say I!"
"After all, Miss Fortune," said Alice, soberly, "it is not what we do for people that makes them love us or, at least, everything depends on the way things are done. A look of love, a word of kindness, goes further towards winning the heart than years of service, or benefactions mountain high, without them."
"Does she say I am unkind to her?" asked Miss Fortune, fiercely.
"Pardon me," said Alice, "words on her part are unnecessary; it is easy to see from your own that there is no love lost between you, and I am very sorry it is so."
"Love, indeed!" said Miss Fortune, with great indignation; "there never was any to lose, I can assure you. She plagues the very life out of me. Why, she hadn't been here three days before she went off with that girl Nancy Vawse, that I had told her never to go near, and was gone all night; that's the time she got in the brook. And if you'd seen her face when I was scolding her about it! it was like seven thunderclouds. Much you know about it! I dare say she's very sweet to you; that's the way she is to everybody beside me; they all think she's too good to live; and it just makes me mad!"
"She told me herself," said Alice, "of her behaving ill another time, about her mother's letter."
"Yes that was another time. I wish you'd seen her!"