I told her a year ago that she ought to
move."
"But she wouldn't get such a nice garden anywhere else," protested Vera,
"and there's such a jolly quince tree in the corner. I don't suppose
there's another quince tree in the whole parish. And she never makes any
quince jam; I think to have a quince tree and not to make quince jam
shows such strength of character. Oh, she can't possibly move away from
that garden."
"When one is sixteen," said Mrs. Bebberly Cumble severely, "one talks of
things being impossible which are merely uncongenial. It is not only
possible but it is desirable that Betsy Mullen should move into smaller
quarters; she has scarcely enough furniture to fill that big cottage."
"As far as value goes," said Vera after a short pause, "there is more in
Betsy's cottage than in any other house for miles round."
"Nonsense," said the aunt; "she parted with whatever old china ware she
had long ago."
"I'm not talking about anything that belongs to Betsy herself," said Vera
darkly; "but, of course, you don't know what I know, and I don't suppose
I ought to tell you."
"You must tell me at once," exclaimed the aunt, her senses leaping into
alertness like those of a terrier suddenly exchanging a bored drowsiness
for the lively anticipation of an immediate rat hunt.
"I'm perfectly certain that I oughtn't to tell you anything about it,"
said Vera, "but, then, I often do things that I oughtn't to do."
"I should be the last person to suggest that you should do anything that
you ought not to do to--" began Mrs.
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