By the Light of the Soul

on either side. There was a great clump of hydrangeas on the small smooth lawn in front, and on the piazza stood a small table, covered with a dainty white cloth trimmed with lace, on

stockings. She held the stocking in her left hand, and drew the thread through regularly. Her mouth was tightly closed, which was indicative both of decision

dgham. He laid the bag on the table, and looked anx

ed. She was thinking of her husband's kindness in bringing the peaches. But she looked at the paper bag on the table sharply. "If t

e table, which was covered with a white lin

at one to-night? You didn't eat m

voice soft with apology. Then she looked fairly for the first time at Maria, who had purposel

pink gingham dress, a miserable little penitent, whose penitence was not of a high order. The swe

y went precipitately out of the room with the paper bag of peaches. "You didn't wear that new pink gingham dr

o her that such an obvious fact

is, too," sa

d felt of the dainty fabric. "It is just as

d Maria then, with

epeated her mot

aybe you wou

g on that new pink gingham dress that I had to hire made, trimmed with all that lace and ribbon, and wea

he must look herself standing so forlornly before her mother. She wondered how her mother could scold her when she was her own daughter,

things in lieu of great ones. Besides, her illness made her irritable. She found a certain relief from her constant pain in scolding this child of her heart, whom secretly she admired as she

room, retreated. He went out the other door himself, and round upon the piazza, when prese

whether or no. He will smoke, though he knows it makes me worse, besides costing more than he can afford,

d her with that odd mixture of worshipful love and chid

ve thought you could, if it hadn't been for deceiving your mother. You would have come down to me to do it, the way you always do. You hav

red whether the wrong fastening had show

the back of the dress. "Take your arms out," said she to Maria. Maria cast a glance at the wind

igure, with the utmost delicacy of articulation as to shoulder-blades and neck. Maria was thin to the extreme, but her bones

ied and stood in her little white petticoat, with another glan

nail on the outside door, and maybe some of the creases will come out. I've heard they w

the depths of her childish heart; it was only that long custom had so inured her to the loving that she did

r with a sort of passion. "May the Lord look out for you," she said, "if you should happen to outlive me! I don'

you aren't any worse?" said

, child, and hang up your dress, then

ws, and hung it up as her mother had directed. On her return she paused a moment at the foot of the stairs in the hall, between the dining-room and sitting-room. Then, obeying an impulse

uch a darling as Maria. She looked at the softly flushed little face, with its topknot of gold, the delicate fairness of the neck, and slender arms, and she had a rapture of something more than possession. The beauty of the child irra

s, and smiled at herself in a sort of ecstasy. She turned her head this way and that in order to get different effects. She pulled the little golden fleece of hair farther over her forehead. She pushed it back, revealing the bold yet delicate outlines of her temples. She thought how glad she should be when her hair was grown. She had had an illness two years before, and her mother had judged it best to have her hair cut short. It was now just long enough to hang over her ears, curving slightly forward li

face in the glass, gave a great start. She turned an

ush, and began brushing her hair. "I was just brushing my hair,"

aid she. "I am ashamed that a child of mine should be so silly. To stand looking at yourself that way! Yo

had herself had doubts as to her super

nd you know yourself how she looks now. Nobody would dream for a minute of c

but without the traces of beauty which her mother's undoubtedly had. She saw the thin, futile frizzes which her aunt Maria affec

o when she was your age," her mother went

"Did I look like Mrs. Jasper Cone's baby tha

?" inquired her m

waiting for father to get the peaches, and she said her ba

d Maria's mother. "Well, one's own alwa

said Maria. Tears actually st

ses could think so. I am sorry poor Mrs. Cone lost her baby. I know how

n't think it

of her moral weapons, the wielding of which she believed to be for the best spiritual good of her child. "Your aunt Maria was very much better looking than you at her age," she repeated, firmly. Then, at the sight of the renewed qui