This question was put with so much earnestness that Elizabeth laughed
heartily.

"One thing is sure," she said, "I shall not remain ignorant of my
failings through want of being told them while I'm here. It would be
better to go home."

"Only try it!" cried Katie, going to her and kissing her. "But now,
Elizabeth, I want to tell you something in all seriousness. Just listen
to me, and profit by it, if you can. I've found it out for myself. The
more you laugh at other people's absurdities the fewer of your own will
be noticed, because, you see, it implies that you are on the right
standpoint to get a review of other people."

"That sounds more like eighty than eighteen."

"Elizabeth, it is the greatest mistake in the world, I mean just that,
to keep back all your wisdom until you get to be eighty. What use will
it be to you then? All you can do with it will be to see how much more
sensibly you might have acted. That's what will happen to you, my dear,
if you don't look out. But at eighteen--I am nineteen--everything is
before you, and you want to know how to guide your life to get all the
best things you can out of it without being wickedly selfish--at least I
do. Your aspirations, I suppose, are fixed upon the forests and the
Indian, and problems concerning the future of the American Colonies. But
I'm more reverent than you, I think the Lord is able to take care of
those."

Elizabeth looked vaguely troubled by the fallacy which she felt in this
speech without being quite willing or able to bring it to light.