“Aunt Priscilla,” said Ladybird, looking at Miss Flint very steadily, “you haven’t been doing anything wrong, have you?”
“What do you mean?” said her aunt, angrily.
“Oh, nothing, but when I think Cloppy’s looking at me like that, it’s really my conscience inside of me telling me I’ve done wrong, when I think it’s only a little dog blinking.”
Miss Flint sat quiet for a moment. Then the fact that there was a modicum of truth in her niece’s remarks caused her annoyance to find vent in sarcasm.
“I did not know, Lavinia, that you ever thought you had done wrong.”
“Oh, aunty, what a foolishness! Of course I know when I’ve done wrong, and you know I know it; and you know I’m as sorry as sorry as sorry! But sometimes I don’t know it until I see that Cloppy-dog staring at me, and then I realize what’s up; and so you see, aunty, I have to keep my little blinky doggy as a sort of a conscience. And now we’ll consider that matter settled.”
“You may consider what you choose,” said Miss Priscilla, looking at her niece very sternly; “I consider it is not settled, and will not be until the dog is disposed of permanently, and if you don’t attend to it, I shall.”
“Aunt Priscilla,” said Ladybird, rising from her chair with great dignity, “I will go to my room and think this matter over.”
“Do,” said Miss Priscilla, dryly, “and take your conscience with you.”
“Come on, Conscience,” said Ladybird to Cloppy, and swinging the dog up to her shoulder, she went to her room.