But like the renowned glass-slipper, it would fit none but the owner,
and I found myself in the same predicament as Cinderella's sisters. In
vain I tugged and pulled; the more I tried, the more it wouldn't go
on--and my grandmother remarked with a sigh, that "people's feet were
not as small as they were in old times." I panted with vexation; for I
had always been proud of my foot, and now put it forward that my
grandmother might see how small it was. But no well-timed compliment
soothed my irritated feelings; and more dissatisfied with myself than
ever, I pursued my investigations.

My grandmother, as if talking to herself, murmured: "How little do we
know, when we set out in life, of the many disappointments before us!
How little can we deem that the heart which then is ours will change
with the fleeting sunshine! It is fearful to have the love of a
life-time thrown back as a worthless thing!"

"Fearful!" I chimed in. "Death were preferable!"

"You little goose!" exclaimed my grandmother, as she looked me full in
the face, "What can _you_ possibly know about the matter?"

I had nothing to do but bury my head down low in the trunk I was
exploring; it was my last attempt at sentiment. My grandmother took
occasion to give me some very good advice with respect to the behavior
of hardly-grown girls; she remarked that they should be careful not to
engross the conversation, and also, that quiet people were always more
interesting than loud talkers. I resolved to try my utmost to be quiet
and interesting, though at the same time it did occur to me as a little
strange that, being so great an admirer of the species, she was not
quiet and interesting herself. But being quiet was not my grandmother's