Her Prairie Knight
"Beatrice!" cried her mother. "I'm ashamed of you!"
"You needn't be, mama. Why won't you just be sorry for yourself, and let it end there? I know, you hated to come, poor dear; but you wouldn't think of letting me come alone, though I'm sure I shouldn't have minded. This is going to be a delicious summer—I feel it in my bones."
"Be-atrice!"
"Why, mama? Aren't young ladies supposed to have bones?"
"Young ladies are not supposed to make use of unrefined expressions. Your poor sister"
"There, mama. Dear Dolly didn't live upon stilts, I'm sure. Even when she married"
"Be-atrice!"
"Dear me, mama! I hope you are not growing peevish. Peevish elderly people"
"Auntie! I want to go home!" the small boy wailed.
"You cannot go home now, dear," sighed his guardian angel. "Look at the pretty" She hesitated, groping vaguely for some object to which she might conscientiously apply the adjective.
"Mud," suggested Beatrice promptly. "Look at
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