Mary nodded.

“Do you remember your mother?”

Mary nodded again.

“Sometimes when you recall how she took you in her arms and cuddled you when you were hurt, and how you loved her and she loved you I know you think thoughts that you couldn’t express to any one else.”

Mary gave a sniff that hinted of tears.

“Everybody has an inner life that is like a church.  You know you wouldn’t think of running into a church and making a noise and disturbing the worshippers.  It’s just so with people’s minds; you can’t rush in and talk about certain things to any one—­the things that he considers too sacred to talk about.”

“How are you going to tell?”

Mrs. Smith drew a long breath.  How was she to make this poor, untutored child understand.

“You have to tell by your feelings,” she answered slowly.  “Some people are more reserved than others.  I believe you are reserved.”

“Me?” asked Mary wonderingly.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if there were a great many things that you might have talked about with your mother, if she had lived, but that you find it hard to talk about with your uncle.”

Mary nodded.

“He’s fierce,” she commented briefly.

“If he should begin to talk to you about some of the tender memories that you have of your mother, for instance, it might be hard for you to answer him.  You’d be apt to think that he was coming into your own private church.”

“I see that,” the girl answered; “but,” returning to the beginning of the conversation, “I didn’t want to talk secrets with Miss Maria; I just wanted to be nice.”

“Just in the same way that people have thoughts of their very own that you mustn’t intrude on, so there are reserves in their habits that you mustn’t intrude on.  Every one has a right to freedom from intrusion.  I insist on it for myself; my daughter never enters my bedroom without knocking.  I pay her the same respect; I always tap at her door and wait for her answer before I enter.”

“Would you be mad if she went into your room without knocking?”

“I should be sorry that she was so inconsiderate of my feelings.  She might, perhaps, interrupt me at my toilet.  I should not like that.”

“Is that what I did to Miss Maria?”

“Yes, dear, it was.  You don’t know Miss Maria well, and yet you opened the door of her private room and went in without being invited.”

“I’m sorry,” she said briefly.

“I’m sure you are, now you understand why it wasn’t kind.”

“I wish she knew I meant to be nice.”

“Would you like to have me tell her?  I think she’ll understand there are some things you haven’t learned for you haven’t a mother to teach you.”

“Uncle Dan says maybe I’ll have to live with the old ladies all the time, so they might as well know I wasn’t trying to be mean,” she whispered resignedly.