The gold beads were Ann's ideals of beauty and richness, though
she did not like to hear Grandma talk about being "done with them."
Grandma always wore them around her fair, plump old neck; she had
never seen her without her string of beads.
As before said, Ann was now very seldom mischievous enough to
make herself serious trouble; but, once in a while, her natural
propensities would crop out. When they did, Mrs. Dorcas was
exceedingly bitter. Indeed, her dislike of Ann was, at all times,
smouldering, and needed only a slight fanning to break out.
One stormy winter day Mrs. Dorcas had been working till dark, making
candle-wicks. When she came to get tea, she tied the white fleecy
rolls together, a great bundle of them, and hung them up in the
cellar-way, over the stair, to be out of the way. They were extra fine
wicks, being made of flax for the company candles. "I've got a good
job done," said Mrs. Dorcas, surveying them complacently. Her husband
had gone to Boston, and was not coming home till the next day, so she
had had a nice chance to work at them, without as much interruption as
usual.
Ann, going down the cellar stairs, with a lighted candle, after some
butter for tea, spied the beautiful rolls swinging overhead. What
possessed her to, she could not herself have told--she certainly had
no wish to injure Mrs.
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