When I was in bed, however, and she was
hanging up my clothes, she said:
"I don't know what's got into you, Miss Barbara. You are
that cross that there's no living with you."
"Oh, go away," I said.
"And what's more," she added, "I don't know but what your
mother ought to know about these goingson. You're only a little
girl, with all your high and mightiness, and there's going to be
no scandal in this Familey if I can help it."
I put the bedclothes over my head, and she went out.
But of course I could not sleep. Sis was not home yet, or
mother, and I went into Sis's room and got a novel from her
table. It was the story of a woman who had married a man in a
hurry, and without really loving him, and when she had been
married a year, and hated the very way her husband drank his
coffee and cut the ends off his cigars, she found some one she
really loved with her Whole Heart. And it was too late. But she
wrote him one Letter, the other man, you know, and it caused a
lot of trouble. So she said--I remember the very words--
"Half the troubles in the world are caused by Letters.
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