allow a servant to be so familiar," Mrs. Meredith began anew.
"'T is a shame on us all, Janice. Hast thou no idea of what
is decent and befitting to a girl of thy station?"

"He was n't familiar," cried Janice, angrily and proudly,
"and you should know that if he had been I--he was telling
me--"

"Yes," cried her mother, "tell me what he was saying
about paradise? Dost think me a nizey, child, not to know
what men mean when they talk about paradise?"

Janice's cheeks reddened, and she replied hotly, "If men
talked to you about paradise, why should n't they talk to me?
I'm sure 't is a pleasant change after the parson's everlasting
and eternal talk of an everlasting and eternal--"

"Don't thee dare say it!" interrupted Mrs. Meredith.
"Thou fallen, sin-eaten child! Go to thy room and stay
there for the rest of the day. 'T is all of a piece that thou
shouldst disgrace us by unseemly conduct with a stable-boy.
Fine talk 't will make for the tavern."

The injustice and yet possible truth in this speech was too
much for Janice to hear, and without an attempt at reply, she
burst into a storm of tears and fled to her room.

Deprived of a listener, Mrs. Meredith sought the squire,
and very much astonished him by a prediction that, "Thy
daughter, Mr. Meredith, is going to bring disgrace on the