"Your hats is all locked up," her mother suggested.
"Then I'll go bareheaded. They'll think it's a new style that I've learned in the city."
Mrs. Sullivan subsided into a chair and showed signs of tears.
"I see that it's poorly worth while to educate you," she began, but Neva interrupted her nervously.
"Oh, mamma, don't say educate jew."
"Now, did you ever hear anything that sassy? I don't see how no man could want you!"
Mrs. Sullivan's tone was tearful, but Neva's sensitive ears had already drunk in their money's worth of culture at the college for young ladies.
"There you go again! 'Want chew.' Mamma, haven't I begged you not to go through life saying chew and Jew, unless you refer to mastication—or an Israelite?"
The tears actually started at this piece of filial cruelty, and Mrs. Sullivan turned to me for consolation.
"Now, I'll put it to you, Miss Ann, ain't that enough to make a woman wish she hadn't never saw a child? And do you know what this trouble is all about?—That common, ig'nant clodhopper, Hiram Ellis, that Nevar's almost broke her neck to see since she's been home."