But then curiosity rose up in all its powers, to baffle my fear; I did so want to see how the house looked inside, and whether they really had anything that was not borrowed!  And then who knows, thought I, but what Mrs. Eylton will show me the inside of some of her drawers?  I dare say she has a great many pretty things.  There was nothing which gave me greater delight than looking into other people’s drawers, and turning over those remnants of various things which are stored away in most houses—­in many for the mere love of hoarding.  Mamma would sometimes allow me to arrange certain little drawers containing jewelry, ribbons, and odds and ends.  But the charmed room in our house was one that was always kept locked, and, from the circumstance of a green ribbon being attached to the key, we called it “the green-ribbon room.”

Dear me! what a collection that room contained.  There were several large trunks that nearly covered the floor, besides boxes, and bags, and bundles; and these were filled with cast-off clothes, silks, ribbons, and bunches of artificial flowers and feathers.  The room was not very often opened; it was at the very top of the house, and lighted by a large dormar-window; but as soon as mamma mounted the stairs, with the key in her hand, the alarm was given:  “Quick! mother is going to the green-ribbon room!” and mamma’s ears were immediately refreshed by the sound of numerous little feet moving up stairs at locomotive speed, with the ostensible purpose of assisting her in her researches—­but in reality, to be getting in her way, and begging for everything we saw.  It was, “Mamma, mayn’t we have this?” or, “mayn’t we have that?” or “Do say yes, just this once; and we’ll never ask you for anything again as long as we live—­never,” a promise faithfully kept till next time.

Mamma sometimes tried to go up very softly, in order to elude our vigilance; but it wouldn’t do.  She often wondered how we found out that that she was there, but we seldom missed an opportunity.  Now and then a dear little pitcher, or a vase of cream-colored ground with a wreath of faint pink roses traced around it, or a cluster of bright-colored flowers in the centre, arrested our attention, and called forth rhapsodies of admiration.  I supposed that everybody had just such a room; and it was very probable, I thought, that Mrs. Eylton might chance to open hers during our visit.  Therefore I decided that, notwithstanding my terror of the lady, a greater amount of pleasure might be obtained by going there, than by staying at home.

So Jane, with her own trim person as neat as possible, bore off her charges to the nursery, in order, as she said, “to make us fit to be seen.”  “Mrs. Eylton might see this,” or “notice that,” and I felt uncomfortably convinced that Mrs. Eylton must possess the sharpest pair of eyes it had ever been my misfortune to encounter.  Finally, we set off; I remember being dressed in a white frock, with a broad sash, and experiencing a consciousness of looking remarkably well, in spite of my hair—­which, having obstinately repulsed all Jane’s advances with tongs and curl-papers, was suffered to remain in all its native straightness.