ment as this: "I read half a Quaker's book through with my father before meeting. I am quite sorry to see him grow so Quakerly." Or, worse and worse: "We went on the highway this afternoon for the purpose of being rude to the folks that passed. I do think being rude is most pleasant sometimes."
Of course she did, poor little over-trained, over-disciplined Richenda, and her open confession of iniquity contrasts agreeably with the anxious assurance given by Anna Winslow to her mother that there had been "no rudeness, Mamma, I assure you," at her evening party. Naturally, a diary written by a little girl for the scrutiny and approbation of her parents is a very different thing from a diary written by a little girl for her own solace and diversion. The New England child is always sedate and prim, mindful that she is twelve years old, and that she is expected to live up to a rather rigorous standard of propriety. She would no more dream of going into the highway "for the purpose of being rude to the folks that passed" than she would dream of romping with boys in those decorous Boston streets where, as Mr. Birrell pleasantly puts it, "re-
