it, the principles of the moral world,—­reason, right, propriety,—­as they recognized, growing into them, the conditions of their outward living.  She made her own life a consistent recognition of these, and she lived openly before them.  There was never any course pursued with sole calculation as to its effect on the children.  Family discussion and deliberation was seldom with closed doors.  Questions that came up were considered as they came; and the young members of the household perceived as soon as their elders the “reasons why” of most decisions.  They were part and parcel of the whole regime.  They learned politeness by being as politely attended to as company.  They learned to be reasonable by seeing how the reason compelled father and mother, and not by having their vision stopped short at the arbitrary fact that father and mother compelled them.  I think, on the whole, the Goldthwaite no-method turned out as good a method as any.  Men have found out lately that even horses may be guided without reins.

It was characteristic, therefore, that Mrs. Goldthwaite—­receiving one day a confidential note proposing to her a pleasant plan in behalf of Leslie, and intended to guard against a premature delight and eagerness, and so perhaps an ultimate disappointment for that young lady—­should instantly, on reading it, lay it open upon the table before her daughter.  “From Mrs. Linceford,” she said, “and concerning you.”

Leslie took it up, expecting, possibly, an invitation to tea.  When she saw what it really was, her dark eyes almost blazed with sudden, joyous excitement.

“Of course, I should be delighted to say yes for you,” said Mrs. Goldthwaite, “but there are things to be considered.  I can’t tell how it will strike your father.”

“School,” suggested Leslie, the light in her eyes quieting a little.

“Yes, and expense; though I don’t think he would refuse on that score.  I should have liked”—­Mrs. Goldthwaite’s tone was only half, and very gently, objecting; there was an inflection of ready self-relinquishment in it, also—­“to have had your first journey with me.  But you might have waited a long time for that.”

If Leslie were disappointed in the end, she would have known that her mother’s heart had been with her from the beginning, and grown people seldom realize how this helps even the merest child to bear a denial.

“There is only a month now to vacation,” said the young girl.

“What do you think Mr. Waylie would say?”

“I really think,” answered Leslie, after a pause, “that he would say it was better than books.”

They sat at their sewing together, after this, without speaking very much more, at the present time, about it.  Mrs. Goldthwaite was thinking it over in her motherly mind, and in the mind of Leslie thought and hope and anticipation were dancing a reel with each other.  It is time to tell the reader of the what and why.