"I don't give to people whom I care nothing for. Can't do it; especially at Christmas, when good-will should go into every thing one does. If all these 'pretties' are for dear friends, you must have a great many."
"I thought they were friends; but I find many of them are not, and that's the trouble, sir."
"Tell me all about it, dear, and let the old glove go," he said, sitting down beside her with his most sympathetic air.
But she held the glove fast, saying eagerly, "No, no, I love to do this! I don't feel as if I could look at you while I tell what a bad, suspicious girl I am," she added, keeping her eyes upon her work.
"Very well, I'm ready for confessions of any iniquity, and glad to get them; for sometimes lately I've seen a cloud in my girl's eyes, and caught a worried tone in her voice. Is there a bitter drop in the cup that promised to be so sweet, Rose?"
"Yes, uncle. I've tried to think there was not; but it is there, and I don't like it. I'm ashamed to tell; and yet I want to, because you will show me how to make it sweet, or assure me that I shall be the better for it, as you used to do when I took medicine."
She paused a minute, sewing swiftly; then out came the trouble all in one burst of girlish grief and chagrin.
"Uncle, half the people who are so kind to me don't care a bit for me, but for what I can give them; and that makes me unhappy, because I was so glad and
