One morning, about a week after she had become too ill to keep up, she found herself so far recovered as to be able to go down stairs to breakfast.  Every thing upon the table she found arranged in the neatest style.  The food was well cooked, especially some tender rice cakes, of which she was very fond.

“Really, these are delicious!” said she, as the finely flavored cakes almost melted in her mouth.  “And this coffee is just the thing!  How fortunate we have been to obtain so good a cook!  I was afraid we should never be able to replace Rachel.  But even she is equalled, if not surpassed.”

“Still she does not surpass Rachel,” said Mr. Smith, a little gravely.  “Rachel was a treasure.”

“Indeed she was.  And I have been sorry enough I ever let her go,” returned Mrs. Smith.

At that moment a new cook entered with a plate of warm cakes.

“Rachel!” ejaculated Mrs. Smith, letting her knife and fork fall.  “How do you do?  I am glad to see you!  Welcome home again!”

As she spoke quickly and earnestly, she held out her hand, and grasped that of her old domestic warmly.  Rachel could not speak, but as she left the room she put her apron to her eyes. (sic) Her’s were not the only ones dim with rising moisture.

For at least a year to come, both Mrs. Smith and her excellent cook will have no cause to complain of each other.  How they will get along during the last week of next August, we cannot say, but hope the lesson they have both received will teach them to bear and forbear.

CHAPTER XXIII.

WORDS.

“THE foolish thing!” said my aunt Rachel, speaking warmly, “to get hurt at a mere word.  It’s a little hard that people can’t open their lips but somebody is offended.”

“Words are things!” said I, smiling.

“Very light things!  A person must be tender, indeed, that is hurt by a word.”

“The very lightest thing may hurt, if it falls on a tender place.”

“I don’t like people who have these tender places,” said aunt Rachel.  “I never get hurt at what is said to me.  No—­never!  To be ever picking and mincing, and chopping off your words—­to be afraid to say this or that—­for fear somebody will be offended!  I can’t abide it!”

“People who have these tender places can’t help it, I suppose.  This being so, ought we not to regard their weakness?” said I.  “Pain, either of body or mind, is hard to bear, and we should not inflict it causelessly.”

“People who are so wonderfully sensitive,” replied aunt Rachel, growing warmer, “ought to shut themselves up at home, and not come among sensible, good tempered persons.  As far as I am concerned, I can tell them, one and all, that I am not going to pick out every hard word from a sentence as carefully as I would seeds from a raisin.  Let them crack them with their teeth, if they are afraid to swallow them whole.”