"Tell me about them, papa," said Patty, contentedly settling herself back
among the cushions of the couch, for she dearly loved a long talk with her
father.

"Well, you will go first to the St. Clairs. You remember Uncle Robert, your
mother's brother, who was here four or five years ago, don't you?"

"Indeed I do; he brought me a French doll nearly as big as I was then
myself,--and a whole five-pound box of candy. He is a lovely man. But I've
never seen Aunt Isabel or the children,--only their photographs."

"Your Aunt Isabel is,--but no,--I won't tell you anything about your
relatives. You may discover their faults and virtues for yourself. Most of
all, my child, you will need to cultivate your sense of proportion. Do you
know what proportion means?"

"Oh, yes, papa, I studied 'ratio and proportion' in arithmetic."

"Not that kind," said her father, smiling; "I mean a proportion of human
interests, of amusements or occupations. I wonder if you _are_ too young to
understand."

"No, I'm not too young to understand _anything_," said Patty, fairly
blinking in her endeavor to look as wise as an owl.

"Well, then, listen while I put it this way. Suppose you were to make a
cake, an ordinary sized cake, you know, how much yeast would you put in
it?"