her
little teeth to keep from crying at the time she was wasting, with all
her heathen waiting for her in South America!

"But I can't leave poor little Ezra Wilson, Rhoda, I just can't!" she'd
cry out. "Wait till these old music-lessons are over and I haven't to
use those horrible dumb-bells every morning, and I'll do something for
the world, yet!"

"Surely, miss," I'd soothe her.

Well, the time went by like sands in a glass, and we were grown maids
before you'd think twice. She looked full two years more than her
seventeen, and Master Dick was away at Harvard College two years
already, for he was wonderful forward and clever always, and first in
all his classes. What time she'd had from her lessons and her
paintings and sketching (which she hated dreadfully, poor thing, though
seeming a master of it, to my eyes!) she was teaching him French and
German from her governess, for they didn't teach it in the village
school and his mother couldn't spare him away, and those languages
helped him a good bit in his studies at the college. The old doctor
was terrible proud of him.

And then came the day that he came home so sudden. It was a grand
April morning and Miss Lisbet and I were directing Henry Wilson about
changing the vines and laying them by for the house painting: Madam was
scolding and fussing about, annoying everybody with her sharp ways, and
I remember thinking that she was failing for sure. I was sad, too, for
mother had decided to put me out to service, after all, and that meant
a parting for Miss Lisbet and me. Mother felt that I was getting above
myself, like, and spoiled for anything that would happen me in the
usual course if Miss Lisbet ever changed, you see. And who could deny
that? But the dear thing knew nothing of it, yet--I hadn't the heart.

Well, Madam was scolding away famously.

"Mind that wistaria, Wilson!" says she. "There's not its equal in
Westchester County!"

"Yes, yes, Madam," says he, crusty-like. "Why good-morning, Master
Dick!"

And there he stood. At the first glance, I saw he looked different.
Older and graver.

"What's this, what's this, Richard?" Madam cries. "Neglecting your
studies?"

"Studies? Studies?" says he, as quick and sharp as she. "What, is the
matter with the people about here? Are you dreaming? Fort Sumter
down, the flag insulted, the President calling for seventy-five
thousand volunteers, and you talk of studies! I'm going to try to get