I thought, and was saucy; and she said that she'd bring
me down, and have me know, once for all, that I wasn't going to be so
topping as I had been; and she wrote this, and says I shall carry it.
I'd rather she'd kill me, right out."

Miss Ophelia stood considering, with the paper in her hand.

"You see, Miss Feely," said Rosa, "I don't mind the whipping so much, if
Miss Marie or you was to do it; but, to be sent to a _man!_ and such a
horrid man,--the shame of it, Miss Feely!"

Miss Ophelia well knew that it was the universal custom to send women
and young girls to whipping-houses, to the hands of the lowest of
men,--men vile enough to make this their profession,--there to be
subjected to brutal exposure and shameful correction. She had _known_ it
before; but hitherto she had never realized it, till she saw the slender
form of Rosa almost convulsed with distress. All the honest blood of
womanhood, the strong New England blood of liberty, flushed to her
cheeks, and throbbed bitterly in her indignant heart; but, with habitual
prudence and self-control, she mastered herself, and, crushing the paper
firmly in her hand, she merely said to Rosa,

"Sit down, child, while I go to your mistress."

"Shameful! monstrous! outrageous!" she said to herself, as she was
crossing the parlor.

She found Marie sitting up in her easy-chair, with Mammy standing
by her, combing her hair; Jane sat on the ground before her, busy in
chafing her feet.

"How do you find yourself, today?" said Miss Ophelia.

A deep sigh, and a closing of the eyes, was the only reply, for a
moment; and then Marie answered, "O, I don't know, Cousin; I suppose
I'm as well as I ever shall be!" and Marie wiped her eyes with a cambric
handkerchief, bordered with an inch deep of black.

"I came," said Miss Ophelia, with a short, dry cough, such as commonly
introduces a difficult subject,--"I came to speak with you about poor
Rosa."

Marie's eyes were open wide enough now, and a flush rose to her sallow
cheeks, as she answered, sharply,

"Well, what about her?"

"She is very sorry for her fault."

"She is, is she? She'll be sorrier, before I've done with her! I've
endured that child's impudence long enough; and now I'll bring her
down,--I'll make her lie in the dust!"

"But could not you punish her some other way,--some way that would be
less shameful?"

"I mean to shame her; that's just what I want. She has all her life
presumed on her delicacy, and