sisterly love has preserved from the living death of a common asylum."

I told him plainly that I thought it would be much better for
themselves, and infinitely so for the countryside, if they were all
shut up in the nearest asylum under proper care.

"What do you mean?" says he, rather startled. For I could see by the
changing of his countenance that he, too, had seen strange things. As,
indeed, he was bound to do, if he kept his eyes open at all, going to
Deep Moat Grange as often as he did.

But then, you see, he was a simple sort of young man, and never
thought, or at least said, any evil of anybody.

Then he suggested that we would walk home together, and though I had
meant to stay at the cottage all day, I actually went. But I soon got
him into a hot argument with my father (who could argue the handle off
the village pump) about doctrine and sacraments, and things that a boy
has to learn about in school till he hates the very name of them. At
least, if he has a master like old Mr. Mustard. Then I up and shinned
out of the back door as quick as I could, lest father should ask me
where I was going, and send me kiting all over the country with one of
our delivery vans. I found Elsie looking out of the window and very
pensive.

So I told her to her face that she was thinking of that curly-headed
curate, and she answered me (as, of course, she would naturally do)
that whether she was or wasn't, it was no business of mine.

Then I vowed I would make it my business.

"Then make it!" says she, and turned away very haughty and went and
sulked in Nancy's little room, which was off the big kitchen. It was
as much as I could do to keep from turning on my heel and walking away,
never more to return. But I knew that it was wrong to yield to
passion. So I was noble and stopped where I was.

Instead I began to sweep up the cinders about the grate and get
everything ready for tea, even to scouring the teapot and things. I
used coarse, common powder, and this I moistened by a coarse and
familiar method. The act brought Elsie out promptly. Just bounding
she was. Mad was no name for it. She called me all the names she
could think of, but she didn't sulk any more. I thought she wouldn't.
That always fetches her. She knows I do it a-purpose to make her
angry, but she can't help it--not one time in a thousand. Elsie is
built that way, and from what I have seen quite a lot of women are.

It works far better tha