"Growing like ill weeds," she said; "as anxious as ever their grandfathers
and mothers were to get their heads up and do mischief. For my part I wish
I was Jove,--to start them full grown at once. Or why shouldn't they be
made like Eve out of their father's ribs? It would be a great comfort to
their mother."

My father had always been much pleased with the results of Judy's training,
as contrasted with those of his sister's. The little ones of my aunt
Martha's family were always wanting something, and always looking care-worn
like their mother, while she was always reading them lectures on their
duty, and never making them mind what she said. She would represent the
self-same thing to them over and over, until not merely all force, but all
sense as well, seemed to have forsaken it. Her notion of duty was to tell
them yet again the duty which they had been told at least a thousand times
already, without the slightest result. They were dull children, wearisome
and uninteresting. On the other hand, the little Morleys were full of life
and eagerness. The fault in them was that they wouldn't take petting; and
what's the good of a child that won't be petted? They lacked that something
which makes a woman feel motherly.

"When did you arrive, cozzie?" she asked.

"A fortnight ago yesterday."

"Ah, you sly thing! What have you been doing with yourself all the time?"

"Furnishing."

"What! you came into an empty house?"