“I am inclined to be wordy, I admit,” acknowledged Persis. “I never know when to stop talking about a thing. I hammer and hammer till I wear every one to a thread and they wish me in Halifax. How shall I help it, grandma?”
“Set a seal upon your lips,” again quoted grandma.
“I will,” declared Persis, jumping up with the zeal of a new decision shining in her eyes. “I will, grandma, sure enough. I’d like to start at once.” And she did so literally, for an hour later Lisa, coming into her room, was amazed to see Persis sitting gravely over her book, an enormous wax plaster fitted over her mouth, which plaster bore an unusually fine impression of the family crest, the motto, “Toujours fidèle,” standing forth in distinct prominence.
“For pity’s sake!” exclaimed Lisa. “What is that for?”
Persis gravely produced a bit of paper and a pencil; then she wrote, “I shall be glad to hear anything of importance you may wish to say, but I am bound not to talk for an hour.”
“Are you going to wear that thing for an hour?” asked Lisa.
A nod of the head gave the reply.
“Then you are a goose.”
A very decided shake in the negative, and Persis was aware that but for her seal Lisa’s remark would have brought forth a much more disagreeable protest. She therefore concluded that in the very first hour she had warded off a discussion, although, as she pensively decided, there wouldn’t have been any need of it but for the seal.
Failing to have her curiosity gratified, Lisa left her sister to her own devices, and when the hour was up Persis carefully peeled off the wax, to be put aside for future use.