“Yes,” said Helen, with all of her seriousness, “I often think of it; perhaps, Auntie, I might become a poetess!”
The other looked aghast. Helen had seen the look on her aunt's face at the mention of her walk with Arthur, and being a young lady of electrical wit, had understood just what it meant, and just how the rest of the conversation was intended to bear upon the matter; with that advantage she was quite in her glory.
“No, indeed, Aunt Polly,” she said, “you can never tell; just suppose, for instance, I were to fall in love with and marry a man of wonderful genius, who would help me to devote myself to art? It would not make any difference, you know, if he were poor—we could struggle and help each other. And oh, I tell you, if I were to meet such a man, and to know that he loved me truly, and to have proof that he could remember me and be true to me, even when I was far away, oh, I tell you, nothing could ever keep me—”
Helen was declaiming her glowing speech with real fervor, her hands dramatically outstretched. But she could not get any further, for the look of utter horror upon her auditor's face was too much for her; she dropped her hands and made the air echo with her laughter.
“Oh, Aunt Polly, you goose!” she cried, flinging one arm about her, “have you really forgotten me that much in three years?”
The other was so relieved at the happy denouement of that fearful tragedy that she could only protest, “Helen, Helen, why do you fool me so?”
“Because you fool me, or try to,” said Helen. “When you have a sermon to preach on the impropriety of walking in the woods alone with a susceptible young poet, I wish you'd mount formally into the pulpit and begin with the text.”
“My dear,” laughed the other, “you are too quick; but I must confess—”
“Of course you must,” said the girl; and she folded her hands meekly and looked grave. “And now I am ready; and if you meet with any difficulties in the course of your sermon, I've an expert at home who has preached one hundred and four every year for twenty years, all genuine and no two alike.”
“Helen,” said the other, “I do wish you would talk seriously with me. You are old enough to be your own mistress now, and to do as you please, but you ought to realize that I have seen the world more than you, and that my advice is worth something.”