When Joan came home from her work, the first thing that caught her eye was a lovely bit of color,—the little rose-bush blooming on the window-sill where Anice herself had placed it.
She went and stood before it, and when Liz, who had been temporarily absent, came into the room, she was standing before it still.
"She browt it," explained Liz, "she wur here this afternoon."
"Aye," she answered, "wur she?"
"Aye," said~Liz. "An', Joan, what do yo' think she towd me to tell yo'?"
Joan shook her head.
"Why, she said I were to tell yo' to go and see her some neet when yo' wur na tired,—just th' same as if yo' wur a lady. Shanna yo' go?"
"I dunnot know," said Joan awakening, "I canna tell. What does she want o' me?"
"She wants to see thee an' talk to thee, that's what,"—answered Liz,—"just th' same as if tha was a lady, I tell thee. That's her way o' doin' things. She is na a bit loike the rest o' gentlefolk. Why, she'll sit theer on that three-legged stool wi' the choild on her knee an' laff an' talk to me an' it, as if she wur nowt but a common lass an' noan a lady at aw. She's ta'en a great fancy to thee, Joan. She's allus axin me about thee. If I wur thee I'd go. Happen she'd gi' thee some o' her owd cloas, as she's ta'en to thee so."
"I dunnot want no owd cloas," said Joan brusquely, "an' she's noan so daft as to offer 'em to me."
"Well, I nivver did!" exclaimed Liz. "Would na tha tak' 'em? Tha nivver means to say, tha would na tak' 'em, Joan? Eh! tha art a queer wench! Why,
