ough towel, and making you cry. And they had
such poor memories, older sisters had. They could never call up the
faintest recollection of a fairy story when you asked for one. They
were also very much opposed to your standing in a chair by the sink to
wipe dishes.

Now Tempy Ann allowed Fel to wipe dishes, and pat out little pies on
the cake-board, and bake doll's cakes. She was such a strong, large
woman too, she could hold Fel and me at the same time; and after we
were undressed, and had our nighties on, she loved to rock us in the
old kitchen chair, and chat with us.

We were confidential sometimes with Tempy Ann,--or I was,--and told
her of our plan of going to Italy to give concerts when we grew up. I
never saw but one fault in Tempy Ann; she would laugh over our solemn
secrets, and would repeat the hateful ditty,--

"Row the boat, row the boat, where shall it stand?
Up to Mr. Parlin's door; there's dry land.
Who comes here, so skip and so skan?
Mr. Gustus Allen, a very likely young man.
He steps to the door, and knocks at the ring,
And says, 'Mrs. Parlin, is Miss Maggie within?'"

Fel and I were both shocked at the bare hint of such a thing as my
marrying Gust. We didn't intend to have any great boys about. If Gust
should want to marry me, and ride in our gilt-edged concert-coach,
with four white horses, I guessed he'd find he wasn't wanted. I
should say "No," just as quick!

The more earnest I grew the more Tempy Ann shook with laughing; and
I had some reason to suspect she went and told Madam Allen my
objections to marrying her son, which I thought was most unfair of
Tempy Ann.

CHAPTER III.

THE BLUE PARASOL.

[Illustration: The Blue Parasol]

As I look back upon those make-believe days, naughty recollections
spring up as fast as dust in August.

Ruphelle seems to me like a little white lily of the valley, all
pure and sweet, but I was no more fit to be with her than a prickly
thistle. I loved dearly to tease her. Once she had some bronze shoes,
and I wanted some too, but there were none to be had in town, and to
console myself, I said to dear little Fel, "I'd twice rather have
black shoes, bronzes look so rusty; O, my! If I couldn't have black
shoes I'd go barefoot."

Fel did not wish me to see how ashamed this made her feel, but I could
not help noticing afterwards that she never wore the bronze shoes to
church.

I pined and fretted because I could n