My aunt said, "it seemed a waste of labor
to fit up a home for a family who didn't know how to take care of it; but
then," added she, "if we do our duty, it wont be our fault if they fail
to do theirs." In a few days she went over to see how they were getting
along, and allowed upon her return that she had serious fears the
children would pull her in pieces. In spite of their mother's feeble
attempts at authority, the little girls pulled at the ribbons on her cap,
picked at her cuff-buttons, and one of them made a sudden snatch at her
brooch, my cherished gift; the mother ran to the rescue, but not till the
pin attached to the brooch was first bent, then broken. "What shall I do
with these children," said the mother. Provoked by the injury to her much
valued brooch, my aunt replied, hastily: "I know what I would do, I
would whip them till they'd learn to keep their hands off what they've
no business with." But when she saw how grieved the woman seemed to be,
she felt sorry she had spoken so hastily.
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