without any trouble," the child
declared gleefully. "But you couldn't multiply."

"Why, yes," said Betty. "I had not exactly thought of it before. Five
times thirteen would be sixty-five, and so on. Five times twenty would
be a hundred. Why, we do it in a great many things, but I suppose
they--whoever invented tables thought that was far enough to go."

"Who did invent them?"

"I really don't know. Doris, we will ask Uncle Win when he comes over.
He knows about everything."

"It would take a great many years to learn everything," said the child
with a sigh.

"But the knowledge goes round," said Betty with arch gayety. "One has a
little and the other a little and they exchange, and then women don't
have to know as much as men."

"I'd like to see the man that knew enough to keep house," declared Mrs.
Leverett. "And didn't Mrs. Abigail Adams farm and bring up her children
and pay off debts while her husband was at congress and war and abroad?
It isn't so much book learning as good common sense. Just think what the
old Revolutionary women did! And now it is high time Doris went to bed.
Come, child, you're so sleepy in the morning."

Doris had her dress unbuttoned and untied her shoes to make sure there
were no knots to pick out. Knots in shoe-strings were very perplexing at
this period when no one had dreamed of button boots. I doubt, indeed, if
anyone would have worn them. The shoes were made straight and changed
every morning, so as to wear evenly and not get walked over at the side.
And people had pretty feet then, with arched insteps, and walked with an
air of dignity. Some of the gouty old men had to be measured for a
tender place here or a protuberance there, or allowance made for bad
corn.

Doris said good-night and went upstairs. Miss Arabella had always kissed
her. Betty did sometimes, and said "What a sweet little thing you are!"
or "What a queer little thing you are!" She said her prayers, hung her
clothes over a chair, put her little shoes just right for morning, and
stepping on the chair round vaulted over to her side of the bed.

What a long, long day it had been! The most beautiful thing in it was
the big cat Solomon, and if she could nurse him she shouldn't be very
much afraid of Aunt Priscilla. Oh, how soft his fur was, and how he
purred, just as if he was glad she had come! Perhaps he sometimes tired
of Aunt Priscilla and black Polly, and longed for a little girl who
didn't mind sitting on the f