My niece Mabel writes to tell us you intend to make your little girl an actress. This news has been a great shock to me. You must not forget that she is a granddaughter of Frederick Horner, the Chymist. She must not be a harlot given over to paint and powder. God is jealous of the safety of His lambs. This plan of dancing is a snare of Satan. You should read the Word, my dear niece. You will read of young maidens who danced before the Ark of the Covenant in the joy of the Lord, but that is not to say your little girl should dance for lewdness and gold when she might be singing the sweet songs of Salvation and joining in the holy mirth of the Children of Israel. If you had let us adopt her, this desire would not have come. We do not let the Devil into our house. You will be the cause of my death, niece, with your wicked intentions. I am an old woman very near to Emmanuel. This great sin must not be. Your loving aunt, ALICE HORNER. P. S.--I am in bed, but with the warmer weather I shall come to see you, my dear niece, and warn you again.--A. H. "Good thing she is in bed," commented Mrs. Raeburn, as she finished reading her aunt's letter. "What's all this about Jenny going for a dancer?" asked Charlie that evening. "Whatever has it got to do with you, I should like to know?" said his wife. "Well, I am her father, when all's said and done. Aren't I?" "And a nice example to a child. I suppose somebody's got to look after you when I die." "I expect the old man will die first. I've been feeling very poorly this year." "First I've heard of it." "Why, only last night my finger was hurting something chronic." "Show me." "Be careful." Mr. Raeburn offered the sick finger for his wife's inspection. "I can't see nothing." "There, blessed if I'm not showing of you the wrong hand." "You must have been shocking bad." "Well, it's better now." "That's enough of you and your fingers. Why shouldn't Jenny be a dancer?" persisted Mrs. Raeburn. "Don't go blaring it all over the neighborhood, anyhow, and don't give me the blame for it if anything goes wrong." "Look here, Charlie, when I married you, I hadn't got nothing better to do, had I?" Charlie shook his head in sarcastic astonishment. "Yes," went on Mrs. Raeburn. "You can wag your great, silly head, but I'm not going to have my Jenny marrying _any_body. She's going to be able to say, 'No, thank you,' to a sight of young chaps. And if I can't look after her sharp when she's at the theater, I can't look after her anywhere else, that's very certain." "Well, I call it rank nonsense--rank nonsense, that's what I call it, and don't you turn round on me and say I put it into her head. What theater's she going to?" "You silly man, she's got to learn first." "Learn what?" "Learn dancing--at a school." "Learn dancing? If she's got to learn dancing, what's the sense in her going for an actress?"