"Read that," she said shortly, pointing to the open page.
Edith was at home here; her pronunciation was rather original, it is true, but she read with ease and fluency, and translated the page afterwards without any awkward pauses.
"That is better," said her aunt, more graciously. "You shall have some lessons. As for the music, I don't believe in making girls, who can't tell the National Anthem from the Old Hundredth, strum on the piano whether they like it or not. You may learn drawing instead. And then I shall expect you to read with me—good solid authors, you know, not poetry and romances, which are all the girls of the present day seem to care for."
"Thank you, aunt," said Edith. "I should like to learn drawing very much."
"Wait a while," continued Miss Harley. "Perhaps you won't thank me when you have heard all. I shall insist upon your learning plain needlework in all its branches, and getting a thorough insight into cookery and housekeeping. With your mother's delicate health there ought to be at least one of the daughters able to take her place whenever it is needful. Your sisters don't know much about the house, I daresay."
"Maude does," answered Edith, proud of her sister's ability. "Maude can keep house well—even papa says so."
"And Jessie?"
"Jessie says her tastes are not domestic, and she has always had enough to do teaching us, and looking after the little ones."
"And what did you do?" demanded Aunt Rachel. "You can't play; you can't sew. By your own confession, you don't know the least thing about household matters. It couldn't have taken you all your time to learn a little French and read a few books. What did you do?"
Edith blushed again.