little girl threw her arms around her,—"Mammy, you shall take my vinaigrette."
"What! your beautiful gold thing, thar, with them diamonds! Lor, Miss, 'twould n't be proper, no ways."
"Why not? You need it, and I don't. Mamma always uses it for headache, and it'll make you feel better. No, you shall take it, to please me, now."
"Do hear the darlin talk!" said Mammy, as Eva thrust it into her bosom, and, kissing her, ran down stairs to her mother.
"What were you stopping for?"
"I was just stopping to give Mammy my vinaigrette, to take to church with her."
"Eva!" said Marie, stamping impatiently,—"your gold vinaigrette to Mammy! When will you learn what's proper? Go right and take it back, this moment!"
Eva looked downcast and aggrieved, and turned slowly.
"I say, Marie, let the child alone; she shall do as she pleases," said St. Clare.
"St. Clare, how will she ever get along in the world?" said Marie.
"The Lord knows," said St. Clare; "but she'll get along in heaven better than you or I."
"O, papa, don't," said Eva, softly touching his elbow; "it troubles mother."
"Well, cousin, are you ready to go to meeting?" said Miss Ophelia, turning square about on St. Clare.
"I'm not going, thank you."
"I do wish St. Clare ever would go to church," said Marie; "but he has n't a particle of religion about him. It really isn't respectable."
"I know it," said St. Clare. "You ladies go to church
