Mrs. Meadowsweet had a good deal to say to her girl. She had made up her mind to give her a nice little domestic lecture. She thought it her duty to reveal to her innocent Beatrice some of the pitfalls into which young married girls are so apt to fall.

 

"Jane," she said to her handmaid, "Miss Beatrice is late."

 

"Eh, so she is," responded Jane. Jane was a woman of very few words. Her remarks generally took the form of an echo. Mrs. Meadowsweet thought her a very comfortable kind of body to confide in. Jane was taking away the supper things.

 

"We were married ourselves, Jane, and we know what it means," continued Mrs. Meadowsweet.

 

Jane was a widow—her husband had been a drunkard, and she had gone through a terrible time with him.

 

She shook her head now with awful solemnity.

 

"We do that," she said. "It's an awful responsibility, is marriage—it's not meant for the young."

 

"I don't agree with you there, Jane. How could elderly people bring up their families?"

 

"It's not meant for the young," repeated Jane. "It's a careful thing, and a troubling thing and a worreting thing is marriage, and it's not meant for the young. Shall I leave the peaches on the table, ma'am, and shall I make fresh cocoa for Miss Beatrice when she comes in?"

 

"Make the cocoa with all milk, Jane, it's more supporting. I always made it a rule to sustain Beatrice a good deal. She wears herself out—she's a great girl for wearing herself out, and it's my duty in life to repair her. I used to repair her poor father, and now I repair her. It seems to me that a woman's province in life is to repair—first the husband, and then the children. Jane, I was thinking of giving Beatrice a little lecture to-night on the duties that lie before her."

 

"Good sakes, ma'am, I'd leave her alone. She'll find out her worrits fast enough."

 

"I don't agree with you, Jane. It seems to me as if the whole of a married woman's bliss consists in this—be tidy in your dress, don't answer back, and give your husband a good dinner. That's what I did—I repaired Meadowsweet, and I never riled him, and we hadn't a word, no, not a word."

 

"All aren't like your blessed husband, Mrs Meadowsweet. Well, ma'am, I'll go now and get the milk on for the cocoa."

 

She left the room, and Mrs. Meadowsweet sat on by the fire.

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