was
with the greatest difficulty that I could restrain myself from taking
refuge in flight. And after I had got in, and made known my business,
I knew no more what was told me in return than we know why the comet of
last summer had a curved train.

At church, I habitually sat with averted face, and cut my finger nails;
in fact I had performed that operation for those digital ornaments so
often that there was very little left of them to practice upon. I most
devoutly wished that it had been so that folks could have been created
with knitting-work, or something of the kind, in their hands--it would
have been so nice when one didn't know what to do with his upper
extremities.

As for my feet, though not remarkably large, they were constantly in the
way. I have often seen the time when I would have given all the world,
had it been mine to give, if I could have taken them off, and consigned
them to the obscurity of my pocket.

One eventful day, my mother took it into her head to have a quilting.
Early in the afternoon I retired to the garret, as the most isolated spot
I could think of, and ensconced myself in bed. All the girls in the
neighborhood were invited, and I would sooner have faced a flaming line
of armed batteries.

Such a gay, joyous time as they had of it, judging from the sounds of
merriment that occasionally floated up to my retreat! I longed to be a
witness of the frolic I knew they were enjoying, but I could not summon
resolution enough to venture from my concealment; and so I wound the
sheets round my head to shut out the gay peals of laughter, and tried to
think myself highly satisfied with my achievement. I was comfortable and
safe, so far as I knew; but the hours were long ones, and I prayed Time
to jog on his team a little faster, if convenient.

By-and-by, the merriment grew louder; there was a pattering of eager feet
on the garret stairs, considerable loud whispering in the passage, and an
infinite amount of giggling. Good heavens! What were they going to do? I
clutched the bed clothes with frantic hands and drew them around my head,
to the utter neglect of the rest of my body, probably believing, like the
ostrich, that so long as I saw nobody, nobody would see me.

Directly the door was thrown open, and, evidently, there was a
consultation on the threshold.

"Go in, Flory!" said the gay voice of Kate Merrick, the pride and tease
of the village. "Go in, I say! What on earth are you afraid of?