"You foolish, romantic child!" quoth mother. "She looks, to me, like a very ordinary line of prose. A slice of bread and butter and a piece of gingerbread mean more to her than these elaborate ringlets possibly can. They get in her eyes, and make her neck cold; see, they are dripping with water, and the child is all in a shiver."
So saying, mother folded a towel round its neck, to catch the falling drops, and went for bread and butter, of which the child consumed a quantity that, was absolutely appalling. To crown all, the ungrateful little thing would not so much as look at me from that moment, but clung to mother, turning its back upon me in supreme contempt.
Moral.-Mothers occasionally know more than their daughters do.
Chapter 6
VI.
JANUARY 24. A Message came yesterday morning from Susan Green to the effect that she had had a dreadful fall, and was half killed. Mother wanted to set off at once to see her, but I would not let her go, as she has one of her worst colds. She then asked me to go in her place. I turned up my nose at the bare thought, though I dare say it turns up enough on its own account.
"Oh, mother!" I said, reproachfully "that dirty old woman!"
Mother made no answer, and I sat down at the piano, and played a little. But I only played discords.
"Do you think it is my duty to run after such horrid old women?" I asked mother, at last.
"I think, dear, you must make your own duties," she said kindly. "I dare say that at your age I should have made a great deal out of my personal repugnance to such a woman as Susan, and very little out of her sufferings."