"Come out!" repeated Kathie, bewildered.
"Yes, be regularly introduced to society. I am past fifteen, and growing tall rapidly. I hope I shall have an elegant figure. I want to be a belle. Don't you suppose you shall ever go to Saratoga?"
"I don't know,"—dubiously.
"It would be a shame for you to grow up here where there is no society. You would surely be an old maid, like your Aunt Ruth."
"She isn't so very old," returned Kathie, warmly.
"But every woman over twenty-five is an old maid. I mean to be married when I am eighteen."
Kathie brushed out her hair, hung up her clothes, and waited for Ada to get into bed so that she might say her prayers in peace. Ada had outgrown "Our Father which art in heaven," and "had no knack of making up prayers," she said.
But it seemed to Kathie that there were always so many things for which to give thanks, so many fresh blessings to ask. She almost wondered a little, sometimes, if God didn't get tired of listening.