"Why—why—they're—It's behaving, you know, when folks are here, or we go a visiting."
"Company manners are good manners," said Horace,
"Oh yes," answered I, meditating on it. "I see; manners that are too good—for mamma—but just right for Mrs. Jones."
"That's it," cried Bess.
"But let us talk it over a bit. Seriously, why should you be more polite to Mrs. Jones than to mamma? You don't love her better?"
"Oh my! no indeed," chorused the voices.
"Well, then, I don't see why Mrs. Jones should have all that's agreeable; why the hats should come off, and the tones soften, and 'please,' and 'thank you,' and 'excuse me,' should abound in her house, and not in mamma's."
"Oh! that's very different."
"And mamma knows we mean all right. Besides, you are not fair, cousin; we were talking about boys and girls—not grown up people."
Thus my little audience assailed me, and I was forced to a change of base.