"Why, in this very instance of going to walk, I had always asked my
mother's consent, and she had given it; but I never told her where we
went, or who went with us, which now appears to me wrong. Our mothers
are much older than we are, and have had much more experience than we
have, and there _may_ be wrong in doing what appears to us quite
harmless."

"For the life of me," interrupted Mary, "I cannot think there can
possibly be any harm in such a slight occurrence. However, say nothing
to your mother to-night; but go with us to-morrow morning, and then you
can mention it to her, and see what she says."

"I beg your pardon, Mary; but you said just now, you could not see what
possible harm there could be in so slight an occurrence, and yet your
request to put off mentioning this to my mother, shows that you have
some misgivings on the subject."

Mary reflected for a moment. "Clara," said she, "if you have no
objection, I will go home with you, and hear what your mother will say."

"I shall be delighted to have you," was the answer.

Mary Winthrop and Clara Spaulding had arrived at the ages of fourteen
and fifteen years, a time of life which is peculiarly critical for
girls. At no age do they more require the advice of a mother, and at no
age are they less inclined to seek it. This would seem to be a natural
disinclination, so prevalent is it. These were both good girls, but, as
may be judged from the conversation we have just related, Clara was the
more thoughtful, while Mary was very apt to act without much reflection.