ady, whom they often called
so, "don't it seem to you that Lois is gettin' turned round?"

"How, my dear?"

"Well, it ain't like the Lois we used to have. She's rushin' at books
from morning to night, or scritch-scratching on a slate; and the rest
o' the time she's like nothin' but the girl in the song, that had
'bells on her fingers and rings on her toes.' I hear that piano-forty
going at all hours; it's tinkle, tinkle, every other thing. What's the
good of all that?"

"What's the _harm?_" said Lois.

"What's she doin' it for, that woman? One 'ud think she had come here
just on purpose to teach Madge and you; for she don't do anything else.
What's it all for? that's what I'd like to be told."

"I'm sure she's very kind," said Madge.

"Mother, do you like it?"

"What is the harm in what we are doing, Charity?" asked her younger
sister.

"If a thing ain't good it's always harm!"

"But these things are good."

"Maybe good for some folks; they ain't good for you."

"I wish you would say 'are not,'" said Lois.

"There!" said Charity. "There it is! You're pilin' one thing on top of
another, till your head won't stand it; and the house won't be high
enough for you by and by. All these ridiculous ways, of people that
think themselves too nice for common things! and you've lived all your
life among common things, and are going to live all your life among
them. And, mother, all this French and music will just make Lois
discontented. You see if it don't."

"Do I act discontented?" Lois asked, with a pleasant smile.

"Does she leave any of her work for you to do, Charity?" said Madge.

"Wait till the spring opens and garden must be made," said Charity.

"I should never think of leaving _that_ to you to do, Charity," said
Lois, laughing. "We should have a poor chance of a garden."

"Mother, I wish you'd stop it."

Mrs. Armadale said, however, nothing at the time. But the next chance
she had when she and her youngest granddaughter were alone, she said,

"Lois, are you in danger of lettin' your pleasure make you forget your
duty?"

"I hope not, grandmother. I do not think it. I take these things to be
duty. I think one ought always to learn anything one has an opportunity
of learning."

"One thing is needful," said the old lady doubtfully.

"Yes, grandmother. I do not forget that."

"You don't want to learn the ways of the world, Lois?"

"No, grandmother."

CHAPTER XXVII.

PEAS AND RADISHES.