"Yes."
"And made a shirt?"
"Only part of one."
"Well, that will do. Stick to the needle, learn shirt-making and gown-making and piecrust-making, and you'll be a clever woman some day. Go to bed now. I'm busy with a pamphlet here."
Presently the niece was enclosed in her small bedroom, the door bolted, her white dressing-gown assumed, her long hair loosened and falling thick, soft, and wavy to her waist; and as, resting from the task of combing it out, she leaned her check on her hand and fixed her eyes on the carpet, before her rose, and close around her drew, the visions we see at eighteen years.

"Yes."
"And made a shirt?"
"Part of one."
"Well, that will do. Stick to the needle, and you'll be a clever woman some day. Go to bed now. I'm busy with a pamphlet here."
Presently the niece was in her small bedroom, in her white dressing-gown, her long hair loosened and falling thick and soft to her waist. As she leaned her cheek on her hand and fixed her eyes on the carpet, before her rose the visions we see at eighteen years.
