"You had better not let your aunt know you've told on her,
Ellen," remarked Mary Lawson; "she won't thank you."
"Had she a good lot of taller to make up?" inquired the
mother, preparing to cut her bees'-wax.
"I don't know, Ma'am; she had a big kettle, but I don't know
how full it was."
"You may as well send a good piece, Ma, while you are about
it," said the daughter — "and ask her to let us have a piece
of her sage cheese, will you?"
"Is it worth while to weigh it?" whispered Mrs. Lowndes.
Her daughter answered in the same tone, and Miss Mary joining
them, a conversation of some length went on over the bees'-
wax, which Ellen could not hear. The tones of the speakers
became lower and lower; till at length her own name and an
incautious sentence were spoken more distinctly, and reached
her.
"Shouldn't you think Miss Fortune might put a black ribbon at
least on her bonnet?"
"Anybody but her would."
"Hush!" They whispered again under breath.
The words entered Ellen's heart like cold iron. She did not
move hand or foot; she sat motionless with pain and fear, yet
what she feared she dared not think. When the bees'-wax was
given her, she rose up from her chair, and stood gazing into
Mrs. Lowndes' face as if she had lost her senses.
"My goodness, child, how you look!" said that lady. "What ails
you, honey?"
"Ma'am," said Ellen — "what was that you said, about —"
"About what, dear?" said Mrs.
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