the undeserved praise I had just received, and pushed the board till it clattered and made a dust.  When Mrs. Desire detected me she turned white with anger.  I pushed it again, making so much noise that the visitors turned to see the cause.  She shook her head in my direction, and I knew what was in store, as we had been at enmity a long time, and she only waited for a decisive piece of mischief on my part.  As soon as the visitors had gone, she said in a loud voice:  “Cassandra Morgeson, take your books and go home.  You shall not come here another day.”

I was glad to go, and marched home with the air of a conqueror, going to the keeping-room where mother sat with a basket of sewing.  I saw Temperance Tinkham, the help, a maiden of thirty, laying the table for supper.

“Don’t wrinkle the tablecloth,” she said crossly; “and hang up your bonnet in the entry, where it belongs,” taking it from me as she gave the order, and going out to hang it up herself.

“I am turned out of school, mother, for pushing a board with my foot.”

“Hi,” said father, who was waiting for his supper; “come here,” and he whistled to me.  He took me on his knee, while mother looked at me with doubt and sorrow.

“She is almost a woman, Mary.”

“Locke, do you know that I am thirty-eight?”

“And you are thirty-three, father,” I exclaimed.  He looked younger.  I thought him handsome; he had a frank, firm face, an abundance of light, curly hair, and was very robust.  I took off his white beaver hat, and pushed the curls away from his forehead.  He had his riding-whip in his hand.  I took that, too, and snapped it at our little dog, Kip.  Father’s clothes also pleased me—­a lavender-colored coat, with brass buttons, and trousers of the same color.  I mentally composed for myself a suit to match his, and thought how well we should look calling at Lady Teazle’s house in London, only I was worried because my bonnet seemed to be too large for me.  A loud crash in the kitchen disturbed my dream, and Temperance rushed in, dragging my sister Veronica, whose hair was streaming with milk; she had pulled a panful over her from the buttery shelf, while Temperance was taking up the supper.  Father laughed, but mother said: 

“What have I done, to be so tormented by these terrible children?”

Her mild blue eyes blazed, as she stamped her foot and clenched her hands.  Father took his hat and left the room.  Veronica sat down on the floor, with her eyes fixed upon her, and I leaned against the wall.  It was a gust that I knew would soon blow over.  Veronica knew it also.  At the right moment she cried out:  “Help Verry, she is sorry.”

“Do eat your supper,” Temperance called out in a loud voice.  “The hash is burnt to flinders.”

She remained in the room to comment on our appetites, and encourage Veronica, who was never hungry, to eat.