itute. It's going to be the school of
the day," declared Joe.

"Exactly. I was coming to that. There would be one term before
vacation."

"I call it all foolishness. And she'll be eighteen on her next
birthday," said her mother. "If she wasn't a good scholar already--and
what more _do_ you expect her to learn?"

They all laughed at their mother's little ebullition of temper.

"The world grows wiser every day," said Joe sententiously.

"And what are you going to do, Pussy?"

Steve reached over and gave the little girl's ear a soft pinch.

"I am going to look up a nice school for her myself. Don't begin to
worry about a child not yet eight years old," said their mother sharply.

"Eight years. She'll soon be that," remarked her father with a soft
sigh. And he wished he could keep her a little girl always.

They went on discussing Rutgers Institute, that was one of the most
highly esteemed schools of the day for young ladies. Steve looked over
at his fair sister--she was _almost_ as pretty as Dolly Beekman. Dolly
had some dainty, attractive ways, played on the piano and sang, and
Peggy had a voice blithe as a bird. Steve was beginning to be quite a
judge of young ladies and social life, and there was no reason why they
should not all aim at something. They had good family names to back
them. Family counted, but so did education and accomplishments.

Mrs. Underhill gave in. Steve would have his way. But then he was such a
good, upright, affectionate son. So when he announced that he had
registered his sister, Margaret's pulses gave a great thrill of delight.

There was so much to do. True, Martha was a good cook and capable, and
there was no milk to look after, no churning, no poultry, and the
countless things of country life. Miss Cynthia Blackfan came the next
week and remodeled the feminine part of the household. She was a tall,
slim, airy-looking person, with large dark eyes and dark hair that she
wore in long ringlets on either side of her face. She always looped them
up when she was sewing. She had all the latest quips of fashion at her
tongue's end--what Margaret must have for school dresses, what for
Sunday best, what lawns and ginghams and prints for summer.

But when she went at the little girl she quite metamorphosed her.

"You must begin to plait the child's hair and tie it with ribbons
[people generally used the word instead of 'braid']. And her frocks must
be made ever so much shorter. And, Cousin