"Oh! What is it?"
"I can't tell you now. Good-night!"
"Will you tell me some other time?"
"Yes, yes—that is, I hope I may."
Five minutes later, when Miss Tryphena Wardlow descended to the parlor she found only Trixy, who was rocking ecstatically in her own little chair and thinking of the doll to come.
"Where's Mr. Trewman?" asked the young woman.
"He's gone. He left this book for you, but he took his lesson with him."
"Lesson? What lesson?"
"Why, the one you said he needed. I gave it to him, and he's goin' to give me a doll for it."
Fenie looked puzzled for a moment; then her face became very red and she exclaimed:
"You dreadful child! Do you really mean that you have repeated to Harry Trewman the——"
Fenie stopped abruptly, darted to the foot of the stairs, shouted "Trif!" dashed through the hall to the dining room, and exclaimed, "Phil, come into the parlor—this instant." In a moment a mystified couple was staring at a young woman whose beauty was enhanced by a great flush of indignation; they also saw a tearful little girl who seemed to be trying to shrink into nothingness.
It took an hour of scolding, and petting, and warning, and kissing to prepare Trixy for bed, but when the child was finally disposed of Phil drawled:
"If you girls don't want things repeated by that child you mustn't say them in her hearing."
"But she never seems to notice what is said," explained Fenie.
"Umph! Neither does a phonograph cylinder, but it gets them all the same."
"All this talk about Trixy doesn't make our position toward Harry Trewman any the less awkward," said Trif gravely.
"Oh, bother Harry Trewman," exclaimed Fenie; but there was a look in her face which compelled Phil to glance slyly at his wife, and Trif to respond with a merry twinkle of her eyes.
CHAPTER II.
A TRANSACTION IN COTTON.
THE week that followed the Trixy-Trewman incident was a trying one to Trif. Her sister Fenie, although an intelligent and well-educated young woman who could talk well on many subjects, and whose interests were generally as broad as those of a clever young woman should be, would converse about nothing but the dreadful position in which Trixy had placed her toward a young man whom she cared no more for than for old Father Adam—indeed, not as much, for Adam was regarded by all good people of New England extraction as a member of the family, although somewhat remotely removed.
As for Trif, she had no patience with a girl who did not know her own mind. When she had first met Phil Highwood, nearly ten years before, she knew at once what to think of him, and she had never changed her mind. Neither had she thought it necessary to talk of him to the exclusion of everything and everybody else—not at least until she had been married to him and before Trixy made her appearance as the eighth wonder of the world and the most important creature ever born.
It would never do, she argued, to betray her feelings to and about her sister, for she had determined to have Harry Trewman for a brother-in-law, and her husband loyally supported her in her decision. But what was to be done?
Upon one thing she and her sister were resolved, and one morning after breakfast the couple called upon Phil to witness their resolution, which was that they would never again say in Trixy's hearing anything which could make mischief by being repeated. Phil listened with a smile so provoking that Fenie called him perfectly horrid, while Trif playfully but vigorously boxed his ears.
"Oh, you'll keep that resolution," Phil admitted. "I've no doubt whatever that both of you will live up to it—while the dear child is asleep, but if either of you blessed women think that you're going to leave anything unsaid that you want to say while you're together you're dangerously mistaken. You've been sisters and chums too long to hold your tongues at home."
"I flatter myself," said Trif loftily, while Fenie pouted exuberantly, "that we have sense enough to make each other understand what we have to say, and at the same time keep the child from knowing what we are talking about."
"Women aren't like men," added Fenie. "It isn't always necessary for them to talk to make themselves understood. Trif has told me thousands of things with her eyes, without saying a word."
"She certainly has a remarkable faculty at that sort of thing," said Phil, with a gentle pinch at his wife's cheek. "She often conversed with me across the entire width of a crowded room—just as you'll probably do, Fenie dear, when the proper man appears. At the present time, however, there's no sign that either of you will let your tongues suffer through lack of exercise."
"Trif," said Fenie, "isn't it about time for your husband to be on his way to his office? I'm sure his employers will complain of him for being late."
When Phil had departed, the two women, to make assurance doubly sure, called Trixy and gave a full hour of cautions against repeating anything whatever that she might chance to overhear in the house. She was reminded that she was mamma's and auntie's little lady, and that ladies never repeat what is said in the home circle, and that nobody liked tale-bearers, and that, although Harry Trewman was not of the slightest consequence—Fenie was elaborately explicit on this point—some dear friend of the family might be greatly offended by hearing something which was said only in fun.
Trixy listened attentively and promised profusely; then she retired to her doll's nursery to have a long season of thought over all that had been said. Fenie often worried about the habits of the child, for dreaming was more to her own taste, but Trif said that Trixy's way was entirely natural and proper; she had exactly the same manner when she was a little girl; besides, according to Phil's parents, the child's father had done much retiring for thought in his youthful days.
But Trixy had much besides thinking to do. She felt greatly mortified at having made any trouble, and the less there seemed to be of the trouble, according to her Aunt Fee, the more of it there was—according to Trif. She reverted to the subject, again and again, asking numberless questions at unexpected times, generally with the result of bringing a blush to Fenie's face. When Trif asked her husband what it could be that made the child so curious, despite all that had been done to belittle Harry Trewman in connection with the incident, Phil's only reply was:
"There's an old saying to the point—'You can't fool a child or a dog.'"
Meanwhile Trixy went on thinking, and one day she came to her mother with a confession.
"You see, mamma, I thought about it a lot, and I thought the best way not to repeat things was not to hear 'em, so I made up my mind that I wouldn't listen any more to anything that wasn't said right straight to me."
"Sensible little girl," exclaimed Trif, showing her approval further by a shower of caresses and kisses.
"Oh," said Trixy, trying to escape, "but you don't know how bad I am. Since I made up my mind to stop hearing things I've heard more of them than ever."
"You poor little darling," exclaimed Trif, snatching the child into her arms, "you must stop tormenting yourself in that manner. Stop thinking about it, dear. Listen when you like, and when you don't. Perhaps that will cure you."
"Oh, I know a better way than that," said Trixy, perching herself upon her mother's knee, and looking up with the expression of a cherub. "You remember that time when I had the earache and you put cotton, with smelly stuff on it, in my ears? Well, I couldn't hear a thing then. Now, I think——"
"Be quiet, dear," exclaimed Trif. "You talk as if you were some dreadful creature from somewhere, instead of mamma's darling, sweet, good little daughter."
A