The first day or two after her arrival, Miss Flora pouted at me.  I was exceedingly well amused, making all the saucy speeches I could think of, in the pure spirit of mischief, and taking no notice of her tossing her pretty head, and turning her back upon me.  Finding that her displeasure was not producing any particular effect upon the object of it, I imagine the indignant beauty begins to plot a different revenge on me.  “Ha, ha!  Miss Flora!  It is not because you like me better than you did, that you are all smiles, and grace, and sunshine.  I shall not flatter you the more, I am determined.  I am on my guard.  You shall never boast of me on your list of obsequious admirers.  No, no, Little Handsome!  I am no lady’s man, and never was flirted withal in my life.  I defy your smiles, as stoutly as your frowns.  I like your pretty face; yes, it is exceedingly beautiful, as far as form and coloring go to make up the beauty of a face.  And the play of the features,—­yes, very lively and pretty, only too much of it.  You should not smile so often; and I am tired of your pretty surprise, your playful upbraidings, and the raps of your fan.  I want more repose of feature, Little Handsome.  Now, what a contrast you and sedate Miss Etty present!  Ah, very good!  I am glad you have given up following Little Ugly out of the room the moment we rise from table.  You sit down to your tiny basket, and demurely take out something that passes for work.  I don’t see you do much at it, however.  I give you warning that I never hold skeins to be wound, not I. I will not read aloud; so you need not offer me that ’Sonnet to Flora,’ in manuscript, nor your pet poet in print.  We will talk; it is a comfort to have my wit appreciated, after wasting so much on my aunt, who cannot, and Miss Etty, who will not understand.  I am glad to have a chance to speak, and to hear a human voice in answer.  I like especially to rattle on when any nonsense will do.  Chat is truly agreeable when one’s brains are not severely taxed to keep it going.”

Sept. 24th.  Charming little Canary!  I have spent the forenoon with her at the piano.  I like her playing when she does not attempt my favorite tunes.  It must be confessed she is apt to vary somewhat, and not for the better always.  Her singing,—­Aunt Tabitha well describes it as that of a canary; sweet and liquid, and clear, and sustained, but all alike.  Her throat is a fine instrument; I shall teach her to use it with more expression and feeling.  We will have another lesson to-morrow.

I thought, though, there was a shadow over her face when I called it practising.  Etty’s eyes met mine at the moment, a rare occurrence.  What was her thought?  One cannot read in her immovable face.