“Now, Miss Amy,” said Sylvia, as I was taking a long private farewell in the kitchen, “jest take a piece of advice from an old colored woman what has lived longer in the world than you have, and roasted chickens and fried sassages ever sense she can remember.  Buckwheat cakes is very good, but to keep your own counsel is a heap better—­so when you go home don’t you go to telling about that ere pig-pen business, or the time when the old hen flewed at you, or tumbling off the old horse.  People that don’t say nothin’ often gits credit for bein’ quite sensible, and p’raps you can deceive ’em too; for you’ll be kind o’ made a fuss with when you fust get home, and if you don’t let on about all these here scrapes they’ll think more of you.”

Sylvia’s advice struck me as being very sensible, and I therefore resolved to act upon it, and endeavor to make them consider me quite a different character from the hoyden Amy.  I kissed Cousin Statia, who took up her sewing as calmly as though nothing of any importance was about to occur; and having delighted Holly’s eyes with a bright ribbon in which all the colors of the rainbow seemed combined, I presented Sylvia with a collar worked by myself, and passed out to the stage, which was waiting for us.  Our journey home was quite an uneventful one; and the wind being more favorable, we were not so long on the passage.

My parents were watching for us with anxious solicitude; but when the door opened in bounded a wild, blooming hoyden, in whose sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks they could detect no trace of the delicate invalid.  Henry and Fred, with a troop of younger brothers, stood ready to devour me with kisses; but Mammy, rushing impulsively forward, pushed them all aside, and cried and laughed over me alternately, while she almost crushed me with the violence of her affection.  Before I was well seated, Fred spied out the bag of hazel-nuts; and a vigorous sound of cracking informed me that the work of devastation had already commenced.

How they all stared at my ear-rings!  But mamma turned pale and burst into tears; while I stood still, feeling very uncomfortable, and yet not being exactly aware of the manner in which I had displeased her.  Aunt Henshaw, however, with a minute accuracy that struck me as being painfully correct, related every circumstance connected with that unfortunate business, from her finding me extended on the bed to the time when the rings were placed in my ears.

“Oh Amy! how could you!” exclaimed my mother; “I have always despised the barbarous practice of making holes in the flesh for the sake of ornament,” she continued, “but to have them pierced by an ignorant colored woman!  Come here, child, and let me look at your ears.  They are completely spoiled!” she exclaimed, “the holes are one-sided, and close to the very bone!  What is to be done?”