Now I must pause to explain this. Had mother aproached me in a sweet
and maternal manner, I would have been softened, and would have told the
Whole Story. But she did not. She was, as you might say, steeming with
Rage. And seeing that I was misunderstood, I hardened. I can be as hard
as adamant when necessary.

"What do you mean, mother?"

"Don't anser one question with another."

"How can I anser when I don't understand you?"

She simply twiched with fury.

"You--a mere Child!" she raved. "And I can hardly bring myself to
mention it--the idea of your owning a Flask, and bringing it into this
house--it is--it is----"

Well, I was growing cold and more hauty every moment, so I said: "I
don't see why the mere mention of a Flask upsets you so. It isn't
because you aren't used to one, especialy when traveling. And since I
was a mere baby I have been acustomed to intoxicants."

"Barbara!" she intergected, in the most dreadful tone.

"I mean, in the Familey," I said. "I have seen wine on our table ever
since I can remember. I knew to put salt on a claret stain before I
could talk."