monster of her--swept
away all companionship with children, and made it presumption and
impertinence when she attempts to force herself among her elders. I
could not be so cruel to a dog as you have been to that child."

Cousin Emily woke up now with a vengeance. Her sleepy eyes flashed
lightning. "Cruel!" says she. "I cruel to my only daughter? Why, there
is not a child in America who has had such care--such abundant chances
for improvement. She has been to the most expensive schools."

"Exactly," says I.

"She has had masters at home--music, dancing, the languages--"

"Exactly," says I.

"Things that I never thought of learning she has mastered."

"Just so," says I.

"She had a French nurse before she could speak. No expense has been
spared by her father. I never had such chances; and we are determined to
give her a splendid education. In fact, she might come out this season,
so far as that is concerned; but I have resolved to be rigid--not a day
before she is seventeen. Then her education will be complete."

"Her education complete at seventeen! Why, Cousin Emily, a woman's
education is _never_ complete. At the best schools we get but a dreamy
sort of idea of the things we must bring all the faculties of a
well-regulated mind to understand in after years. A well-educated woman
is one who studies and learns something every day of her life--who
thinks about what she sees, and acts upon what she knows."

Cousin Emily lifted up both hands, all covered with shining rings, as if
to choke me off. I stopped. Far be it from Phoemie Frost to force the
opinions of our Society upon unwilling ears; but I lifted my forefinger
in solemn admonishment, and says I:

"Oh, Cousin Emily, Cousin Emily, has it got so that you hold up both
hands against common-sense!"

"Not against common-sense," says she, "but against your uncommonly long
sentences. Why, Miss Frost, it is like our old-fashioned country
preaching."

"Which has died out of your heart, I dare say. Oh, Emily, Emily, what
would your sainted mother, my aunt, say?"

This brought the misguided woman to her tears. She sat up on that
lace-silk sofa, straight and listening, as I have seen her many a time
on the a b c bench at school, when her little feet couldn't touch the
floor.

"Cousin Phoemie," says she, "I am trying to do what is right."

"I hope so," says I, with tears of thankfulness in my eyes, for the
"Cousin Phoemie" went straight to my heart. "But my mi