good enough.  But she’s as good as any person.  Her mother’s name is Smith before she was married, and them Smiths was well fixed.  She sayed Sophy’d have to go in and out the back way and never out the front.  Why, they say some of the town people’s that proud, if the front door-bell rings and the missus is standin’ right there by it, she won’t open that there front door but wants her hired girl to come clear from the kitchen to open it.  Yes, you mightn’t b’lee me, but I heerd that a’ready.  And Mary Hertzog she tole me when she hired out there fur a while one winter in town, why, one day she went to the missus and she says, ’There’s two ladies in the parlor and I tole ’em you was helpin’ in the kitchen,’ and the missus she ast her, ’What fur did you tell ’em that?  Why, I’m that ashamed I don’t know how to walk in the parlor!’ And Mary she ast the colored gentleman that worked there, what, now, did the missus mean?—­and he sayed, ’Well, Mary, you’ve a heap to learn about the laws of society.  Don’t you know you must always leave on the ladies ain’t doin’ nothin’?’ Mary sayed that colored gentleman was so wonderful intelligent that way.  He’d been a restaurant waiter there fur a while and so was throwed in with the best people, and he was, now, that tony and high-minded!  Och, I wouldn’t hire in town!  To be sure, Mister can do what he wants.  Well,” she added, “it’s a quarter till five—­I guess I’ll put the peppermint on a while.  Mister’s folks’ll be here till five.”

She moved away to the stove, and Margaret resumed her assault upon the stubborn ignorance of the father.

“Think, Mr. Getz, what a difference all this would make in Tillie’s life,” she urged.

“And you’d be learnin’ her all them years to up and sass her pop when she was growed and earnin’ her own livin’!” he objected.

“I certainly would not.”

“And all them years till she graduated she’d be no use to us where owns her,” he said, as though his child were an item of live stock on the farm.

“She could come home to you in the summer vacations,” Margaret suggested.

“Yes, and she’d come that spoilt we couldn’t get no work out of her.  No, if I hire her out winters, it’ll be where I kin draw her wages myself—­where’s my right as her parent.  What does a body have childern fur?  To get no use out of ’em?  It ain’t no good you’re plaguin’ me.  I ain’t leavin’ her go.  Tillie!” he commanded the child with a twirl of his thumb and a motion of his head;” go set the supper-table!”

Margaret laid her arm about Tillie’s shoulder.  “Well, dear,” she said sorrowfully, “we must give it all up, I suppose.  But don’t lose heart, Tillie.  I shall not go out of your life.  At least we can write to each other.  Now,” she concluded, bending and kissing her, “I must go, but you and I shall have some talks before you stop school, and before I go away from New Canaan.”