old men would still ask affectionately after "little Miss Edy" and
"Master Teddy," forgetting the passing of time.

My little daughter was a very severe critic! I think if I had listened
to her, I should have left the stage in despair. She saw me act for the
first time as Mabel Vane, but no compliments were to be extracted from
her.

"You _did_ look long and thin in your gray dress."

"When you fainted I thought you was going to fall into the
orchestra--you was so _long_."

In "New Men and Old Acres" I had to play the piano while I conducted a
conversation consisting on my side chiefly of haughty remarks to the
effect that "blood would tell," to talk naturally and play at the same
time. I "shied" at the lines, became self-conscious, and either sang the
words or altered the rhythm of the tune to suit the pace of the speech.
I grew anxious about it, and was always practicing it at home. After
much hard work Edy used to wither me with:

"_That's_ not right!"

Teddy was of a more flattering disposition, but very obstinate when he
chose. I remember "wrastling" with him for hours over a little Blake
poem which he had learned by heart, to say to his mother:

"When the voices of children are heard on the green,
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast,