“Yes,” said Evadne, “she is my aunt.”

“Hum!  I never knew she hed any nieces, ’cept them two gals uv Jedge Hildreth’s down ter Marlborough.”

“I am their cousin, Mrs. Riggs.  I used to live in Barbadoes.”

“Well, I declar!  Why, Barbaderz is t’ other side of nowhere!  Used ter be when I went ter school.  Well, well, some folks hez a lion’s share uv soarin’ an’ here I’ve ben all my life jest a’ pinin’ my heart out ter git down ter Bosting, an’ I ain’t never got there!  But that’s allers the way.  I never git nuthin’.  I’m sixty-nine years old cum Christmas an’ I ain’t never ben further away frum hum than twenty miles hand runnin’, an’ here’s a chit like you done travelin’ enuff ter last a lifetime.”

“But I didn’t want to travel, Mrs. Riggs,” said Evadne gently.  “I would so much rather have stayed at home.”

“There you go!” grumbled the old lady.  “Folks ain’t never satisfied with their mercies.  Allers a’ flyin’ in the face uv Providence.  I tell you we’se wurms, child; miserable, shiftless wurms, a’ crawlin’ down in this walley of humiliation, with our faces ter the dust.”

“But you’ve got a great deal to be thankful for, Mrs. Riggs,” ventured Evadne, “in having such a daughter.  Aunt Marthe thinks she is a splendid character.”

“So she oughter be!” retorted the old lady, “with sech a bringin’ up ez she’s hed.  But land! childern’s dretful disappointin’ ter a pusson.  There ain’t a selfish bone in my body, but Penel’s ez full uv ’em.  She’ll let me lie awake by the hour at a time while she’s a’ snoozin’ on the sofy beside me.  She don’t sleep in her own bed any more because I hev ter hev her handy ter rub me when the rheumatiz gits ter jumpin’.  She sez she can’t help bein’ drowsy when she’s workin’ through the day, but land! she’d manage ter keep awake ef she hed any sympathy!  She ain’t got no sympathy, Penel ain’t; an’ she ain’t a bit forehanded.

“But I don’t ‘spect nuthin’ else in this world.  It’s a wale o’ tears an’ we ain’t got nuthin’ else ter look fer but triberlation an’ woe.  Man ez born ter trouble ez the sparks fly upward, an’ a woman allers hez the lion’s share.”

Evadne burst into the sitting-room with flashing eyes.  “Aunt Marthe, if I were Penelope Riggs, I would shoot her mother!  She’s just a crooked old bundle of unreasonableness and ingratitude!”

Mrs. Everidge laughed.  “No, you wouldn’t dear, not if you were Penelope.”

“But, Aunt Marthe, how does she stand it?  Why, it would drive me crazy in a week!  To think of that poor soul, working like a slave all day, and then grudged the few winks of sleep she gets on a hard old sofa.  I declare, it makes me feel hopeless!”

“The day I climbed Mont Blanc,” said Mrs. Everidge softly, “we had a wonderful experience.  Down below us a sudden storm swept the valley.  The rain fell in torrents, and the thunder roared, but up where we stood the sun was shining and all was still.  When we walk with Christ, little one, we find it possible to live above the clouds.”