oom, and see me write a letter."

"All right," Beth answered, and Aunt Grace Mary took her off without
more ado.

It was a great encouragement to Beth to find that Aunt Grace Mary was
obliged to take pains with her writing. All the other grown-up people
Beth knew, seemed to do everything with such ease, it was quite
disheartening. Beth was allowed a pencil, a sheet of paper, and some
lines herself now, and Aunt Grace Mary was taking great pains to teach
her to write an Italian hand. Beth was also trying to learn: "because
there are such lots of things I want to write down," she explained;
"and I want to do it small like you, because it won't take so much
paper, you know."

"What kind of things do you want to write down, Beth?" Aunt Grace Mary
asked. Beth treated her quite as an equal, so they chatted the whole
time they were together, unconstrainedly.

"Oh, you know--things like--well, the day we came here there were
great grey clouds with crimson caps hanging over the sea, and you
could see them in the water."

"See their reflection, you mean, I suppose."

Beth looked puzzled. "When you think of things, isn't that
reflection?" she asked.

"Yes; and when you see yourself in the looking-glass, that's your
reflection too," Aunt Grace Mary answered.

"Oh, then I suppose it was the sea's thought of the sky I saw in the
water--that makes it nicer than I had it before," Beth said, trying to
turn the phrase as a young bird practises to round its notes in the
spring. "The sea shows its thoughts, the thought of the sea is the
sky--no, that isn't right. It never does come right all at once, you
know. But that's the kind of thing."

"What kind of thing?" Aunt Grace Mary asked, bewildered.

"The kind of thing I am always wanting to write down. You generally
forget what we're talking about, don't you?--I say, don't you want to
drive your own ponies yourself sometimes?"

"No, not when your dear uncle wants them."

"Dear uncle wants them almost always, doesn't he? Horner ses as
'ow----"

"Beth, don't speak like that!"

"That's Horner, not me," Beth snapped, impatient of the interruption.
"How am I to tell you what he said if I don't say what he said? Horner
ses as 'ow, when Lady Benyon gev them there white ponies to 'er darter
fur 'er own use, squire 'e sells two on 'is 'orses, an' 'as used them
ponies ever since. Squire's a near un, my word!" Beth perceived that
Aunt Grace Mary looked very funny in the face. "You'r