“Why?”

“What did you reckon I wanted you to go at all for, Miss Mary?”

“Well, I never thought⁠—and come to think, I don’t know. What was it?”

“Why, it’s because you ain’t one of these leather-face people. I don’t want no better book than what your face is. A body can set down and read it off like coarse print. Do you reckon you can go and face your uncles when they come to kiss you good morning, and never⁠—”

“There, there, don’t! Yes, I’ll go before breakfast⁠—I’ll be glad to. And leave my sisters with them?”