r-dressed people. It is bad enough to be
quite well aware that the size of one's hands and feet prematurely
foreshadow the future growth of one's figure; that these are the more
prominent because the simple dresses of the unintroduced young lady seem
to be perpetually receding from one's bony-wrists above, and shrinking
towards the calves of one's legs below, from those thin ankles on which
one is impelled to stand by turns (like a sleeping stork) through some
mysterious instinct of relieving the weak and overgrown spine.

This, I say, is mortifying enough, and if modesty and good breeding
carry us cheerfully through a not unfelt contrast with the assured
manners and flowing draperies of Mamma's lady friends in the
drawing-room, they might spare us the announcement of what it hardly
needs gold eyeglasses to discover--that we really grow every day.
Blushes come heavily enough to hands and cheeks when to the shyness of
youth are added the glows and chills of imperfect circulation: it does
not need the stare of strangers, nor the apologies of Mamma, to stain
our doubtful complexions with a deeper red.

All girls are not awkward at the awkward age. I speak most
disinterestedly on Matilda's behalf, for I never went through this phase
myself. It is perhaps because I am small that I can never remember my
hands, or any other part of me, feeling in my way; and my clothes--of
whatever length, breadth, or fashion--always had a happy knack of
becoming one with me in such wise that I could comfortably forget them.

The St. Quentin girls were nearer to Matilda's age than I, but they too
were very happy and looked very nice in the hobble-de-hoy stage of
girlhood. I am sure that they much preferred the company of their young
brothers to the company of the drawing-room; but they did what they were
told to do, and seemed happy in doing it. They had, however, several
advantages over Matilda. By judicious care (for they were not naturally
robust) they were kept in good health. They kept a great many pets, and
they always seemed to have plenty to do, which perhaps kept them from
worrying about themselves. Adelaide, for instance, did all the flowers
for the drawing-room and dinner-table. Mrs. St. Quentin said she could
not do them so well herself. They had a very small garden to pick from,
but Adelaide used lots of wild-flowers and grass and ferns. She often
let me help her to fill the china jars, and she was the only person who
ever seeme