tigershell to her ear, and listened to that low, sleepy murmur, whether
in the sense or in the soul we hardly know, like that which had so often
been her lullaby,--a memory of the sea, as Landor and Wordsworth have
sung.

"You are getting to look like your father," Aunt Silence said one day; "I
never saw it before. I always thought you took after old Major Gideon
Withers. Well, I hope you won't come to an early grave like poor
Charles,--or at any rate, that you may be prepared."

It did not seem very likely that the girl was going out of the world at
present, but she looked Miss Silence in the face very seriously, and
said, "Why not an early grave, Aunt, if this world is such a bad place as
you say it is?"

"I'm afraid you are not fit for a better."

She wondered if Silence Withers and Cynthia Badlam were just ripe for
heaven.

For some months Miss Cynthia Badlam, who, as was said, had been an
habitual visitor at The Poplars, had lived there as a permanent resident.
Between her and Silence Withers, Myrtle Hazard found no rest for her
soul. Each of them was for untwisting the morning-glory without waiting
for the sunshine to do it. Each had her own wrenches and pincers to use
for that purpose. All this promised little for the nurture and
admonition of the young girl, who, if her will could not be broken by
imprisonment and starvation at three years old, was not likely to be
over-tractable to any but gentle and reasonable treatment at fifteen.