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 morning call put an end to the interview, but a few hours later, while Trif was sewing busily and Fenie was talking volubly and aimlessly about Harry Trewman, a light step was heard in the room, and Fenie dropped her subject for a moment, and exclaimed:

"Tryphosa Wardlow Highwood, will you look at your daughter—this instant?"

Trixy was evidently expecting to be looked at, and was pleased at the effect of her appearance. Over each ear was a great dark ball or wad of something, her mother could not imagine what, until examination showed that the outside of each was a rubber tobacco pouch, two or three of which Phil had discarded when he gave up smoking pipes. Inside of each was a mass of raw cotton, and the mouth of each bag was tied tightly around a juvenile ear.

"I can't hear hardly a thing," shouted Trixy. "A little bit of cotton in each ear didn't make much difference, but a whole lot on the outside made lots, and the bags made more, beside keeping the cotton on. Now go on talkin' all you like; I'm goin' to read."

"She shan't wear those dreadful things," exclaimed Fenie, untying the bags, despite Trixy's remonstrances. "She shan't keep cotton in her ears, either. The idea of the darling little thing being——"

"Let her have her way a little while," said Trif. "It will amuse her, without harming any one else. Besides, you may accidentally mention Harry Trewman in the course of the afternoon, and——"

There must have been a note of sarcasm in Trif's voice, for Fenie retorted sharply:

"Tryphosa, this is your house, and if you dislike that young man so much that you object to the child hearing the sound of his name, why I——"

"Fenie! Fenie, dear!" interrupted Trif, scarcely able to control her voice and not daring to lift her eyes from the work which she had resumed. "Whatever you like to talk about, you know I like to hear about. Aren't you my only sister, and my——"

"I didn't suppose that I talked much about Harry Trewman," said Fenie, making a pretense of sewing industriously.

"You mean nothing but what is entirely right, dear girl."

"Then why do you object to that innocent child hearing what I say? I'm sure that I say nothing which any one might not listen to—do I?"

"Certainly not; still, don't you remember what happened a night or two ago, dear, through a certain child hearing something and repeating it?"

"Yes, but—" here Fenie looked cautiously toward Trixy, who was reading, with an air of utter absorption—"but I'm not likely to speak so foolishly again. Trif, do let me take the cotton from that child's ears. It is making her uncomfortable. See. She is rubbing one of her ears now."

"She is sensible enough to complain when it really hurts. You don't imagine that her mother will let her suffer, do you?"

"No, but—well as I was saying, I don't really talk much about Harry Trewman, do I?"

Trif looked up so intently and roguishly that Fenie blushed deeply, and the blush remained while Trif said softly:

"Really, dear, you don't talk much about anything else."

"I don't see how you can say that," replied Fenie with uncertain voice, "when you know that I don't care anything—or not much, for him or about him. I don't suppose I would have spoken his name a single time this week if he hadn't come here last week, and if Trixy hadn't made that dreadful blunder. You certainly don't think me in love with him, I hope?"

"I hope not, dear. There are many gradations of feeling that a true woman must go through before she can say honestly that she is in love. But you—well, you like him a little better than you like any other of your admirers, don't you?"

"Ye—es, I suppose I do," replied Fenie, her voice not entirely under control. "He is gentlemanly, and honest-looking, and never brings the odor of liquor or tobacco with him. He doesn't make silly attempts at flattery, and he talks a great deal about his sisters, who are very nice girls, and he knows when to go home, instead of dawdling here until midnight, and we like the same books and pictures, so——"

"And so he is a pleasant acquaintance to have—too pleasant to lose entirely?"

"Yes, indeed, and if it hadn't been for that dreadful child—there, Trif, she's rubbing that ear again. I'm sure she's in pain. Do let me remove that ridiculous cotton."

"Tut, tut. Go on. You were saying——"

"Oh, what was I saying? What were we talking about?" asked Fenie, with charming but entirely transparent hypocrisy. "Oh, I was merely going to say that if Trixy hadn't made that dreadful speech to him the other night, I wouldn't have missed one delightful party—perhaps two, to which he and his oldest sister would have taken me."

"Oh, I see. 'Tis only the parties that trouble you."

"Tryphosa," exclaimed Fenie indignantly, as she arose from her chair, "I think you're real unkind—real tormenting. First you make fun of me for talking a lot about him, and then you make me talk about him a great deal more. I wasn't going to say a word about him this afternoon, but you've kept me at it in spite of myself. Perhaps you don't want me to like him. Well, I shan't oblige you. I do like him. I'm not a bit in love with him, but I do like him ever so much, and I'm not a bit ashamed to say so. There!"

"Bravo!" exclaimed Trif, springing from her chair and throwing her arms about her sister. "I'm glad that at last you know your own mind. Now stop acting like a child, and be the woman you have the right to be. I'm proud of you, my darling sister—proud of your honesty and spirit. But—why, my dear girl, what is the matter?"

"Harry's been driven away from here," sobbed Fenie, "and I'm dreadful unhappy about it, and I want him to come back."

"Hurrah," sounded a high childish treble. The sisters looked in the direction of the sound, and there stood Trixy, with glowing cheeks and dancing eyes as she continued:

"I want him to come back, too, for he promised to bring me a doll."

"Trixy," exclaimed Fenie severely. Trixy understood at once and looked guilty, but she explained:

"One of the cottons dropped out, and I didn't know a thing about it till you boo-hoo'd."