Cousin E. E. shut the glass doors that looked as if a sharp frost had crept over 'em, and we sat down on the round sofa in the front room, ready for company, with nothing but those two marble folks to hear what we said.
But peace and quietness will never come to a house that has a fast child like Miss Dempster, as the creature calls herself, in it. We had hardly sat down and got our trains spread, when in she came, all in a fluff of white muslin, and a flutteration of red ribbons, with her hair a flowing down her back, crinkle, crinkle, and her—well—limbs just strained into silk stockings and kid boots laced down ever so far below her frock, and looking so impudent. Down she sat on the round sofa, and begun to swing her heels against the silk cushions.
"Why, daughter," says Cousin E. E., "what is the meaning of this?"
The child laughed and flung back her head.
"It means," says she, "that I'm not to be cheated into staying upstairs when a Christmas dinner is on hand. I'm ready for it, and I wish the company would come."
"But, my child, you are too young."
"If I'm too young, where do you find your old folks?" says the saucy thing, shaking out her ribbons.
"Cousin E. E., I would not permit it," says I, for I couldn't help speaking to save my life. "She isn't of an age to go into company."
"Well, you are old enough, and a good deal to spare," says the impudent thing. "No mistake about that!"
I drew up the train of my pink silk dress, and walked across the room in a way that spoke my indignation, without words. When I turned to go back that creature was right behind me, with her head up, measuring off the carpet, step by step, with me.