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“‘What is the matter?’ said Aunt Harriet.

“I was speechless.

“‘What have you been doing?’

“I couldn’t speak; but accumulating misfortune was gradually overpowering me, and I began to cry.

“‘Get into bed,’ said Aunt Harriet.

“I willingly obeyed, and Aunt Harriet seated herself at the foot.

“‘Now, think before you speak, Mary,’ she said quietly, ‘and then tell me the truth. What have you been doing?’

“One large tear rolled over my nose and off the tip as I feebly began–

“‘I got into the chair–‘

“‘Well?’ said Aunt Harriet.

“‘–to look in the glass.’

“‘What for?’ said Aunt Harriet.

“Tears flowed unrestrainedly over my face as I howled in self-abasement–

“‘To look at the shape of my nose.’

“At this point Aunt Harriet rose, and, turning her back rather abruptly, crossed the room, and picked up Mr. Joseph. (I have since had reason to believe that she was with difficulty concealing a fit of laughter.)

“‘What have you had this picture down for?’ she inquired, still with her back to me.

“‘I couldn’t see,’ I sobbed, ‘and I got Mr. Joseph to help me.’

“My aunt made no reply, and, still carefully concealing her face, restored Mr. Joseph to his brass nail with great deliberation.

“There is nothing like full confession. I broke the silence.

“‘Aunt Harriet, I was awake when you and Granny were here, and heard what you said.’

“‘You are a very silly, naughty child,’ my aunt severely returned. ‘Why don’t you go to sleep when you are sent to bed?’

“‘I can’t,’ I sobbed, ‘with talking and candles.’

“‘You’ve got the screen,’ said Aunt Harriet; and I cannot tell why, but somehow I lacked courage to say that the red screen was the chief instrument of torture!

“‘Well, go to sleep now,’ she concluded, ‘and be thankful you’re not hurt. You might have killed yourself.’

“Encouraged by the gracious manner in which she tucked me up, I took a short cut to the information which I had failed to attain through Mr. Joseph.

“‘Aunt Harriet,’ I said, ‘do you think I shall ever be as beautiful as Mrs. Moss?’

“‘I’m ashamed of you,’ said Aunt Harriet.

“I climbed no more into the treacherous arm-chair. I eschewed the mirror. I left Mr. Joseph in peace upon the wall. I took no further trouble about the future prospects of my nose. But night and day I thought of Mrs. Moss. I found the old cushion, and sat by it, gazing at the faded tints of the rosebuds, till I imagined the stiff brocade in all its beauty and freshness. I took a vigorous drawing fit; but it was only to fill my little book with innumerable sketches of Mrs. Moss. My uncle lent me his paint-box, as he was wont; and if the fancy portraits that I made were not satisfactory even to myself, they failed in spite of cheeks blushing with vermilion, in spite of eyes as large and brilliant as lamp-black could make them, and in spite of the most accurately curved noses that my pencil could produce. The amount of gamboge and Prussian blue that I wasted in vain efforts to produce a satisfactory pea-green, leaves me at this day an astonished admirer of my uncle’s patience. At this time I wished to walk along no other road than that which led to my dear manor, where the iron gates were being painted, the garden made tidy, and the shutters opened; but, above all, the chief object of my desires was to accompany my grandmother and aunt in their first visit to Mrs. Moss.

“Once I petitioned Aunt Harriet on this subject. Her answer was–

“‘My dear, there would be nothing to amuse you; Mrs. Moss is an old woman.’

“‘Granny said she was so beautiful,’ I suggested.

“‘So she was, my dear, when your grandmother was young.’

“These and similar remarks I heard and heeded not. They did not add one wrinkle to my ideal of Mrs. Moss: they in no way whatever lessened my desire of seeing her. I had never seen my grandmother young, and her having ever been so seemed to me at the most a matter of tradition; on the other hand, Mrs. Moss had been presented to my imagination in the bloom of youth and beauty, and, say what they would, in the bloom of youth and beauty I expected to see her still.