herself, with a provoking look that seemed to say, 'Ah! I'm too
sharp for you; you shan't trick it out of me, either.'

On another occasion, I pretended to forget the whole affair; and
talked and played with her as usual, till night, when I put her to
bed; then bending over her, while she lay all smiles and good
humour, just before departing, I said, as cheerfully and kindly as
before--'Now, Mary Ann, just tell me that word before I kiss you
good-night. You are a good girl now, and, of course, you will say
it.'

'No, I won't.'

'Then I can't kiss you.'

'Well, I don't care.'

In vain I expressed my sorrow; in vain I lingered for some symptom
of contrition; she really 'didn't care,' and I left her alone, and
in darkness, wondering most of all at this last proof of insensate
stubbornness. In MY childhood I could not imagine a more
afflictive punishment than for my mother to refuse to kiss me at
night: the very idea was terrible. More than the idea I never
felt, for, happily, I never committed a fault that was deemed
worthy of such penalty; but once I remember, for some transgression
of my sister's, our mother thought proper to inflict it upon her:
what SHE felt, I cannot tell; but my sympathetic tears and
suffering for her sake I shall not soon forget.

Another troublesome trait in Mary Ann was her incorrigible