to the town school if it wasn't good enough for her?

"Mamma, I wish I was del'cate," whined I. "Ned snipped off my finger
in the corn-sheller,--don't that make me del'cate?"

"Delicate!" said Ned. "You're as tough as a pine knot."

I thought this was a cruel speech. He ought to be ashamed to snip off
my finger, and _then_ call me tough.

In looking about for a governess, Madam Allen thought at once of
dear Martha Rubie, who lived just across the garden from their house.
Uncle John's wife was her sister, the aunt Persis I told you about,
who thought I ought not to hear baby-talk. Aunt Persis wasn't willing
her sister Martha should go away from home; she said Fel might trip
across the garden and say her lessons at her house. Fel didn't like to
do it, for she was afraid of aunt Persis--she wouldn't go unless I
would go with her; and finally mother said I might; so it turned out
just as well for me as if I was delicate. She wanted Gust to go too,
and he wasn't willing. But if Fel set her heart on anything it
generally came about.

"Augustus," said Madam Allen, smiling with her pleasant black eyes,
which had a firm look in them, "you will recite to Miss Rubie if I
wish it."

"Well, then, I want some of the other fellows to 'cite too," sniffed
little Gust; "'tisn't fair for one boy to go to a patchwork school,
long o' girls."

And thus it happened that several children joined us, and Miss Rubie
had quite a sizable school.

And now I must tell you what sort of a house we went to; for the
whole thing was very queer. In the first place, there was dear uncle
John,--yes, _your_ uncle John; but don't ask any questions; I'll tell
you more by and by,--and his wife, that was aunt Persis; and his
wife's sister, dear sweet Martha Rubie; and his little boy, Zed. Aunt
Persis was an elegant, stately woman, but there was always something
odd about her. I think myself it was odd she shouldn't like baby-talk.

She knit herself into my earliest recollections when she was Pauline
Rubie, and after she married uncle John, she knit my stockings just
the same, and uncle never interfered with the stripes, red and white,
running round and round like a barber's pole. They were the pride of
my life till Gust Allen said they made my little legs look like sticks
of candy, good enough to eat. Then I hated them; but aunt Persis had
got in the way of knitting stripes, and wouldn't stop it, beg as I
might--for she always thought her way was right