poor mother who paid the penalty.

"Isabel," cried Aunt Bridget, "I hope you are satisfied with your child
at last."

"What has Mary been doing now, dear?" said my mother.

"Don't ask me what she has been doing. You know quite well, or if you
don't you ought to."

My mother glanced at the flowers and she seemed to understand what had
happened, for her face fell and she said submissively,

"Mary has done wrong, but I am sure she is sorry and will never do it
again."

"Sorry, indeed!" cried my Aunt. "Not she sorry. And she'll do it again
at the very next opportunity. The vixen! The little wilful, underhand
vixen! But what wonder if children go wrong when their own mothers
neglect to correct them."

"I daresay you are quite right, dear Bridget--you are always right,"
said my mother in a low, grave voice. "But then I'm not very well, and
Mary is all I have, you know."

My mother was in tears by this time, but Aunt Bridget was not content
with her triumph. Sweeping downstairs she carried her complaint to my
father, who ordered that I was to be taken out of my mother's charge on
the ground that she was incapable of attending to my upbringing--a task
which, being assigned to my Aunt Bridget, provided that I should