A truly beautiful old maiden, with her silvery hair, tranquil face, and an atmosphere of repose about her that soothed whoever came to her! Aunt Plenty was utterly dissimilar, being a stout, brisk old lady, with a sharp eye, a lively tongue, and a face like a winter-apple.

Always trotting, chatting, and bustling, she was a regular Martha, cumbered with the cares of this world and quite happy in them.
Rose was right; and while she softly read psalms to Aunt Peace, the other ladies were talking about her little self in the frankest manner.
"Well, Alec, how do you like your ward ?" began Aunt Jane, as they all settled down, and Uncle Mac deposited himself in a corner to finish his doze.
"I should like her better if I could have begun at the beginning, and so got a fair start.

Poor George led such a solitary life that the child has suffered in many ways, and since he died she has been going on worse than ever, judging from the state I find her in." "My dear boy, we did what we thought best while waiting for you to wind up your affairs and get home.

I always told George he was wrong to bring her up as he did; but he never took my advice, and now here we are with this poor dear child upon our hands.

I, for one, freely confess that I don't know what to do with her any more than if she was one of those strange, outlandish birds you used to bring home from foreign parts." And Aunt Plenty gave a perplexed shake of the head which caused great commotion among the stiff loops of purple ribbon that bristled all over the cap like crocus buds.
"If my advice had been taken, she would have remained at the excellent school where I placed her.