e.

"I'll try not to," said Polly, wishing she could be deft-handed like
Mamsie, and doing her best to get to the inner page quietly.

"And why don't you read where you are?" cried Mrs. Chatterton. "Begin on
the first page. I wish to hear that first."

Polly turned the sheet back again, and obeyed. But she hadn't read more
than a paragraph when she came to a dead stop.

"Go on," commanded Mrs. Chatterton, her eyes sparkling. She had
forgotten to play with her rings, being perfectly absorbed in the
delicious morsels of exceedingly unsavory gossip she was hearing.

Polly laid the paper in her lap, and her two hands fell upon it. "Oh,
Mrs. Chatterton," she cried, the color flying from her cheek, "please
let me read something else to you. Mamsie wouldn't like me to read
this." The brown eyes filled with tears, and she leaned forward
imploringly.

"Stuff and nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Chatterton passionately. "I command
you to read that, girl. Do you hear me?"

"I cannot," said Polly, in a low voice. "Mamsie wouldn't like it." But
it was perfectly distinct, and fell upon the angry ears clearly; and
storm as she might, Mrs. Chatterton knew that the little country maiden
would never bend to her will in this case.

"I would have you to know that I understand much better than your mother
possibly can, what is for your good to read. Besides, she will never
know."

"Mamsie knows every single thing that we children do," cried Polly
decidedly, and lifting her pale face; "and she understands better than
any one else about what we ought to do, for she is our mother."

"What arrant nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Chatterton passionately, and
unable to control herself at the prospect of losing Polly for a reader,
which she couldn't endure, as she thoroughly enjoyed her services in
that line. She got out of her chair, and paced up and down the long
apartment angrily, saying all sorts of most disagreeable things, that
Polly only half heard, so busy was she debating in her own mind what she
ought to do. Should she run out of the room, and leave this dreadful old
woman that every one in the house was tired of? Surely she had tried
enough to please her, but she could not do what Mamsie would never
approve of. And just as Polly had about decided to slip out, she looked
up.

Mrs. Chatterton, having exhausted her passion, as it seemed to do no
good, was returning to her seat, with such a dreary step and forlorn
expression that she seemed