upon this question; Dolly herself taking the
negative and her mother the affirmative side. She wanted her daughter
at home, she said.

"But not till I am fit to be at home, mother?"

"Fit? Why are you not fit?" said Mrs. Copley. "You know as much as I
did when I was married; and I should think that would be enough. I do
not see what girls want with so much crammed into their heads,
nowadays! It does them no good, and it does nobody else any good."

"What do you think you want, Dolly, more than you have already?" her
father asked.

"Why, father, I do not know _anything_. I have only begun things."

"Humph! Not know anything. I suppose you can read and write and cipher?"

"And you can play and sing," added Mrs. Copley.

"Very little, mother."

"And your drawings are beautiful."

"Oh, no, mother! That is one especial thing that I want to do better; a
great deal better."

"I think they are good enough. And you have music enough. What's the
use? When you are married you will give it all up."

"My music and my drawing, mother?"

"Yes. Every girl does."

"But I am not going to be married."

"Not just yet,"--said Mr. Copley, drawing the soft arms round his
neck,--"not just yet, Dolly. But when a girl is known to have so much
money as you will have, there are sure to be plenty of fellows after
her. Somebody will catch you up, some of these days."

"Somebody who wants my money, father?"

"Everybody wants money"--Mr. Copley answered evasively.

"They would not come and tell you so, I suppose?"

"Not exactly. That isn't the game."

"Then they would pretend to like me, while they only wanted my money?"

"Mr. Copley, do you think what notions you are putting in Dolly's head?
Don't you know yet, that whatever you put in Dolly's head, stays
there?" Mrs. Copley objected.

"I like that," said Dolly's father. "Most girls' heads are like paper
fly traps--won't hold anything but a fly. Dolly, in the pocket of my
overcoat that hangs up in the hall, there is something that concerns
you."

"Which pocket, father?"

"Ay, you've got your head on your shoulders! That's right. In the inner
breast pocket, my dear. You'll find a small packet, tied up in paper."

Being brought and duly opened, Mr. Copley's fingers took out of a small
paper box a yet smaller package in silk paper and handed it to Dolly.
It was a pretty little gold watch.

"Why didn't you wait till you go to Geneva, Mr. Copley?" said his wife.
"You could