"A farmer! The game is not worth the candle. I wouldn't be a farmer's wife for anything. I loathe being a farmer's daughter."
"I don't," said Mattie, with spirit. "I'm proud of my home, my honest race, my good, sweet mother, my dear father."
"How queer!" said Doris, meditatively. "Now, I couldn't see anything to be proud of in all that. I should be proud of a coach and grays, and men in livery—of suits of jewels, of a French maid, of velvet, satin, lace, brocade dresses."
"Doris," said Mattie, anxiously, "have you any soul?"
"Soul? If we cannot live without one, and soul makes the heart go, I suppose I have; otherwise, I don't feel aware of the property you mention."
"I believe you are only jesting, to tease me. You were always brighter than I am, and a real rogue. You have higher ideas and better intentions and wishes than you say."
"No, really I haven't—not one bit."
"Why, then," said poor Mattie, deeply distressed, "it must be your moral nature that is lacking."
"Moral nature? That's just it," said Doris, with infinite satisfaction. "Moral nature—I haven't any. I think all the nature I have must be immoral; I always side with the sinners in all stories."
Mattie had finished arranging the pretty little room. Doris jumped from her place on the bed.