Tears were in Nelly’s eyes as she answered gravely,
“Comfort is a servant, and you are my little daughter. I want you to be diligent, and cultivate a love of books. If you grow up in ignorance, you can never be esteemed a lady, even if you were as rich as an empress. I will give you the credit to say that you have improved very much since you have been with me, both in your conduct and in the language you use.”
“Comfort told me I mustn’t say ‘br’iling fish,’ as she did, because you did not! That was kind of her, wasn’t it?”
Mrs. Brooks felt her eyes moisten at this unexpected remark, more, perhaps, at the tone than at the words themselves. She saw that Nelly was deeply attached to Comfort, and she felt almost that she was wrong in seeking to withdraw the child from the grotesque attraction she had lately seemed to feel for her society. But duty was duty, and she was firm.
She stooped and imprinted a light kiss on Nelly’s cheek.
“Yes,” she said, “Comfort is very kind to you. But I do not wish you to spend more time with her when you are out of school than you do with the rest of the family. Remember not to hurt her feelings by repeating to her this conversation.”
"Yes, ma’am," said Nelly; and then she added, “Comfort was going to show me how to write poetry, to-night, when she got through with her work. Couldn’t I go in the kitchen for this one evening?”
“Comfort—teach—poetry?” echoed Mrs. Brooks, with some dismay and amusement.
“Yes, ma’am.”