"Ain't your man! don't like dwy bwead, 'cept when I'se vewy hungwy."
"Neither do I," chimed in Cyril. "And we don't go to school. Papa says we're not big enough."
"Don! Cyril! my little boys must not be rude," reproved the mamma. "Run away now to your plays."
"They're pretty children," remarked the caller as the twain disappeared.
"Very frank in the expression of their sentiments and wishes," the mother responded smiling.
"Extremely so, I should say;" added Mildred dryly.
"Is it not a mother's duty to curb and restrain?" queried the visitor, fixing her cold blue eyes upon Mrs. Keith's face.
"Certainly; where she deems it needful."
Mrs. Keith's tones were perfectly sweet-tempered; Mildred's not quite so, as she added with emphasis, "And no one so capable of judging when it is needful as my mother."
"Quite natural and proper sentiments for her daughter, no doubt. How do you like Pleasant Plains?"