I rushed into the garden and trampled the chamomile bed.

I had heard that it grew faster for being subjected to that process, and thought of the two women I had just seen while I crushed the spongy plants.

Had _they_ been trampled upon?
A feeling of pity stung me; I ran into the house, and found them on the point of departure, with little bundles in their hands.
"Aunt Mercy will let me carry your bundles a part of the way for you; shall I ?" "No, indeed," said Ruth, in a mild voice; "there's no heft in them; they are mites to carry." "Besides," chimed Sally, "you couldn't be trusted with them." "Are they worth anything ?" I inquired, noticing then that both wore better dresses, and that the bundles contained their shop-gowns.
"What made you pinch the moltee's tail ?" asked Sally.

"If you pinched my cat's tail, I would give you a sound whipping." "How could she, Sally," said Ruth, "when our cat's tail is cut short off ?" "For all the world," remarked Sally, "that's the only way she can be managed.

If things are cut off, and kept out of sight, or never mentioned before her, she may behave very well; not otherwise." "Good-by, Miss Ruth, and Sally, good-by," modulating my voice to accents of grief, and making a "cheese." They retreated with a less staid pace than usual, and I sought Aunt Mercy, who was preparing the Sunday's dinner.