Mr. Walter threw up his hands, and a general shout followed this precocious sally.

"Come, come," said Mr. Walter, when he had done laughing; "you have begun too early, little puss; come here and let me feel your head. I must take a phrenological look at you. Bless me! what an affectionate little creature you must be," said he, pa.s.sing his hand over her head; "stick a pin there now, while I examine the rest of your b.u.mps."

"You must not stick a pin in my head," said Nettie; "I don't like that way of expressing an o-_pin_-ion."

"No further examination is necessary," said the extinguished Mr. Walter; "I have done with _you_, Miss Nettie. What do you mean?" whispered he to Ruth, "by having such a child as that? Are we going to have another genius in the family?"

"I don't know about that," said Ruth, laughing; "she often says such things when she gets excited and hilarious, but I never encourage it by notice, and you must not; my physician told me not to teach her anything, and by all means not to let her see the inside of a schoolroom at present."

"Well, well," said Mr. Walter, "Miss Nettie and I must have a tilt at punning some day. You had better engage, Ruth, to furnish the Knickerbocker with smart repartees for his 'Children's Table,' from your own fireside."

"_Prenez garde_," whispered Ruth, "don't spoil her. Such a child needs careful training; she is high-spirited, warm-hearted, and sensitive;"

and Ruth sighed.

"I interpret your thoughts," said Mr. Walter; "but we must have no backward glances to-day. Those children will never suffer what you have suffered; few women ever did. Ruth, for the thousandth time I tell you, you are a brave woman!"

"--Upon my word," said Mr. Walter, suddenly, blushing and thrusting his hand in his pocket, "I have committed the sin so common to all _man_-kind; carried letters for you round in my pocket all this time, without delivering them: here they are. I never saw a woman have so many letters as you do, 'Floy;' you'll need a private secretary before long."

Ruth broke the seal of one, saying, "You'll excuse me a few moments,"

and read:

"TO 'FLOY':

"DEAR MADAM,--We have established a very successful Infant School in our neighborhood, numbering about fifty pupils. Our first anniversary occurs next month. It is our intention to gather together the parents and children, and have a sort of jubilee; hymns will be sung, and short pieces spoken. We should be very much obliged to you if you would write us a little dialogue to be repeated by two little girls, of the age of six; something sweet and simple, such as you know how to write. We make no apology for thus intruding on your time, because we know your heart is with the children.

"Yours respectfully, JOHN DEAN.

"Secretary of the Leftbow Infant School."

"Patience, gentlemen, while I read No. 2," said Ruth. No. 2 ran as follows:

"DEAR 'FLOY':

"Old Guardy has sent me up to this academy. I hate academies. I hate Guardy's. I hate everything but snipe shooting and boating.

Just now I am in a horrid fix. Every fellow in this academy has to write a composition once a week, I cannot do it. I never could.

My talents don't lie in that way. I don't know where they do lie.

What I want of you is to write those compositions for me. You can do it just as easy as water runs down hill. You could scratch one off while I am nibbing my pen. Old Phillips will think they are uncommon smart for me; but never mind, I shall keep dark, and you are such a good soul I know you can't refuse. My cigars have been out two whole days; so you may know that I have no funds, else I would send you a present.

"Yours truly, HAL. HUNNEWELL."

After glancing over this letter Ruth broke into a merry laugh, and saying, "This is too good to keep," read it aloud for the amus.e.m.e.nt of the company, who unanimously voted Hal. Hunnewell a composition every week, for his precocious impudence.

"Come, now," said Mr. Walter, as Ruth took up No. 3, "if you have another of the same sort, let us hear it, unless it be of a confidential nature."

Ruth looked over the letter a moment, and then read:

"DEAR 'FLOY':

"Mamma has read me some of your stories. I like them very much. You say you love little children. Don't you think we've got a bran new baby! It came last night when I was asleep in my trundle-bed. It is a little pink baby. Mamma says it will grow white by-and-bye.

It has got such funny little fingers; they look all wrinkled, just like our maid's when she has been at the wash-tub. Mother has to stay in bed with him to keep him warm, he's such a little cold, shaky thing. He hasn't a bit of hair, and he scowls like everything, but I guess he'll be pretty by-and-bye. Anyhow I love him. I asked mother if I might not write and tell you about him, and she laughed and said, I don't know who 'Floy' is, nor where she lives; but Uncle Jack (he gives me lots of candy and dolls) said that I must send it to 'Floy's' publishers! I don't know what a publisher is, and so I told Uncle Jack; and he laughed and said he would lose _his_ guess if I didn't have something to do with them one of these days. I don't know what that meant either, and when I asked him, he said 'go away, Puss.' I think it is very nice to have an Uncle Jack at Christmas and New Year's, but other times they only plague little children. I wish I could see you. How do you look? I guess you look like mamma; mamma has got blue eyes, and soft brown hair, and her mouth looks very pleasant when she smiles.

Mamma's voice is as sweet as a robin's, so papa says. Papa is a great big man, so big that n.o.body could ever hurt me, or mamma.

Papa wants to see you too. Won't you write me a letter, a little letter all to myself? I've got a box made of rosewood, with a lock and key on it, where I'd hide it from Uncle Jack, (that would tease him!) Uncle Jack wants to see you too, but I hope you never will let him, for he's such a terrible tease, he'd plague you dreadfully. I guess our baby would send his love to you if he only knew you. Please write me soon, and send it to Kitty Mills, care of Uncle Jack Mills, and please seal it up all tight, so he cannot peep into it.

"P.S.--I want you to write a book of stories for little girls, and don't make them end bad, because it makes me cry; nor put any ghosts in them, because it scares me; or have any 'moral' down at the bottom, because Uncle Jack always asks me if I skipped it.

Write something funny, won't you? I like funny things, and fairy stories. Oh, I like fairy stories so _much_! Wasn't it nice about the mice and the pumpkin, in Cinderella? Make them all end well, won't you?

"Your affectionate little KITTY."

"I suppose you do not feel any curiosity to know what the papers say about your book," said Mr. Walter, as Ruth refolded her letters. "I have quite a stock of notices in my pocket, which I have saved up. You seem to have taken the public heart by storm. You could not desire better notices; and the best of it is, they are spontaneous--neither begged nor in a measure demanded, by a personal call upon the editors."

"What on earth do you mean?" asked Ruth.

"Look at 'the spirit of '76' flashing from her eyes," said Mr. Grey, laughing, as he pointed at Ruth.

"I mean this," said Mr. Walter, "that not long since I expressed my surprise to an able critic and reviewer, that he could praise a certain book, which he must have known was entirely deficient in merit of any kind. His answer was: 'The auth.o.r.ess of that book made a call on me at my office, deprecated in the strongest terms any adverse criticism in the paper with which I am connected; said that other papers would take their tone from mine, that it was her first book, and that her pen was her only means of support, &c., &c. What can a man do under such circ.u.mstances?' said my informant."

"How _could_ she?" said Ruth. "Of what ultimate advantage could it be?

It might have procured the sale of a few copies at first, but a book, like water, will find its level. But what astonishes me most of all is, that any able reviewer should be willing to risk his reputation as a critic by such promiscuous puffery. How are the people to know when he speaks his _real_ sentiments? It strikes me," said Ruth, laughing, "that such a critic should have some cabalistic mark by which the initiated may understand when he speaks truthfully. It is such a pity!" continued Ruth thoughtfully; "it so neutralizes criticism. It is such a pity, too, that an auth.o.r.ess could be found so devoid of self-respect as to do such a thing. It is such an injury to those women who would disdain so to fetter criticism; who would launch their book like a gallant ship, prepared for adverse gales, not sneaking near the sh.o.r.e, or lowering their flag for fear of a stray shot."

"Do you know, Ruth," said Mr. Walter, "when I hear you talk, I no longer wonder at Hyacinth's lack of independence and common sense; his share must, by some unaccountable mistake, have been given to you in addition to your own. But where are the children?"

They looked around; Katy and Nettie, taking advantage of this prolonged discussion, had slid from the table, in company with a plate of nuts and raisins, and were holding an animated conversation in a further corner.

"Why! what a great, big mark on your arm, Katy," exclaimed Nettie; "how _did_ it come?"

"Hush!" replied Katy; "grandma did it. She talked very bad about mamma to grandpa, and I started to go up into my little room, because, you know, I _couldn't_ bear to hear it; and she called to me, and said, 'Katy, what are you leaving the room for?' and you know, Nettie, mamma teaches us always to tell the truth, so I said, 'because I cannot bear to stay and hear you say what is not true about my mamma.' And then grandma threw down her knitting, seized me by the arm, and set me down, oh, _so_ hard, on a chair; and said, 'but you _shall_ hear it.' Then, oh, Nettie, I _could not_ hear it, so I put my fingers in both ears; and then she beat me, and left that place on my arm, and held both my hands while she made me listen."

During this recital, Nettie's eyes glowed like living coals. When Katy concluded, she clenched her little fists, and said:

"Katy, why didn't you strike her?"

Katy shook her head, and said in a low tone, "Oh, Nettie, she would have killed me! When she got angry she looked just like that picture of Satan we saw once in the shop window."

"Katy, I _must_ do something to her," said Nettie, closing her teeth together, and planting her tiny foot firmly upon the floor; "she _shan't_ talk so about mamma. Oh, if I was only a big woman!"

"I suppose we must _forgive_ her," said Katy thoughtfully.

"_I_ won't," said the impulsive little Nettie, "never--never--never."

"Then you cannot say your prayers," said the wise little Katy; "'forgive us, as we forgive those who have trespa.s.sed against us.'"

"What a pity!" exclaimed the orthodox Nettie; "don't you wish that hadn't been put in? What _shall_ we do, Katy?"

"Nettie," said her mother, who had approached unnoticed, "what did you mean when you said just now, that you wished you were a big woman?"

Nettie hung her head for a minute, and twisted the corner of her ap.r.o.n irresolutely; at last she replied with a sudden effort, "you won't love me, mamma, but I will tell you; I wanted to cut grandma's head off."