"She must be near-sighted," said Aunt Madge. "She certainly can't have
the faintest idea how thick that paint is. She ought to let somebody
else put it on."

"But, auntie, isn't it wicked to wear paint on your cheeks?"

"No, Dotty, only foolish. That woman was handsome once, but her beauty
is gone. She thinks she can make herself young again, and then people
will admire her."

"O, but they won't; they'll only laugh."

"Very true, Dotty; but I dare say she never thought of that till this
little child told her."

"Fly," said Horace, "You are doing a great deal of good going round
hurting folks' feelings."

"Poor woman!" said Aunt Madge, with a pitying smile; "she might comfort
herself by trying to make her soul beautiful."

"That would be altogether the best plan," said Horace, aside to Prudy;
"she can't do much with her body, that's a fact; it's too dried up."

All this while they were passing elegant shops, and Aunt Madge let the
children pause as long as they liked before the windows, to admire the
beautiful things.

"Whose little grampa is that?" cried Fly, pointing to a Santa Claus
standing on the pavement and holding out his hands with a very pleasant