of her own, and never expected to
fail in anything she undertook.

She had spent half of her short life out of doors, and almost considered
it lost time when she was obliged to stay in the house for the rain.

Mrs. Parlin kept saying it was high time for her eldest daughter to
begin to be womanly, and do long stints with her needle: she could not
sew as well now as she sewed two years ago.

But Mr. Parlin laughed at his wife's anxiety, and said he loved Susy's
red cheeks; he didn't care if she grew as brown as an Indian. She was
never rude or coarse, he thought; and she would be womanly enough one of
these days, he was quite sure.

"Anything," said Mr. Parlin, "but these _womanly_ little girls, such as
I have seen sitting in a row, sewing seams, without animation enough to
tear rents in their own dresses! If Susy loves birds, and flowers, and
snowbanks, I am thankful, and perfectly willing she should have plenty
of them for playthings."

Then, when Mrs. Parlin smiled mischievously, and said, "I should like to
know what sort of a wild Arab you would make out of a little girl," Mr.
Parlin answered triumphantly,--"Look at my sister Margaret! I brought
her up my own self! I always took her out in the woods with me, gunning
and trouting. I taught her how to skate when she was a mere baby. I
often said she was all the brother I had in the world! She can remember
now how I used to wrap her in shawls, and prop her up on the woodpile,
while I chopped wood."

"And how you hired her to drop ears of corn for you into the
corn-sheller; and how, one day, her fingers were so benumbed, that one
of them was clipped off before she knew it!"

"Well, so it was, that is true; but only the tip of it. Active children
will meet with accidents. She was a regular little fly-away, and would
sooner climb a tree or a ladder any time, than walk on solid ground.
_Now_ look at her!"

And Mr. Parlin repeated the words, "Now look at her," as if he was sure
his wife must confess that she was a remarkable person.

Mrs. Parlin said, if Susy should ever become half as excellent and
charming as Miss Margaret Parlin, she should be perfectly satisfied, for
her part.

Thus Susy was allowed to romp to her heart's content; "fairly ran wild,"
as aunt Eastman declared, with a frown of disapproval. She gathered wild
roses, and wore them in her cheeks, the very best place in the world
for roses. She drank in sunshine with the fresh air of heaven, just as