Miss Ophelia marched straight to her own chamber, to put away her bonnet and shawl, as was always her manner, before she spoke a word on any subject; while Eva came at St. Clare’s call, and was sitting on his knee, giving him an account of the services they had heard. They soon heard loud exclamations from Miss Ophelia’s room (which, like the one in which they were sitting, opened to the verandah), and violent reproof addressed to somebody. “What new witchcraft has Tops been brewing?” asked St. Clare. “That commotion is of her raising, I’ll be bound!” And in a moment after, Miss Ophelia, in high indignation, came dragging the culprit along. “Come out here, now!” she said. “I _will_ tell your master!” “What’s the case now?” asked Augustine. “The case is, that I cannot be plagued with this child any longer! It’s past all bearing; flesh and blood cannot endure it! Here, I locked her up, and gave her a hymn to study and what does she do but spy out where I put my key, and has gone to my bureau and got a bonnet-trimming and cut it all to pieces to make dolls’ jackets! I never saw anything like it in my life.” Illustration: MISS OPHELIA AND TOPSY. “I cannot be plagued with this child any longer!” “I told you, cousin,” said Marie, “that you’d find out that these creatures can’t be brought up without severity. If I had _my_ way, now,” she said, looking reproachfully at St. Clare, “I’d send that child out and have her thoroughly whipped; I’d have her whipped till she couldn’t stand!” “I don’t doubt it,” said St. Clare. “Tell me of the lovely rule of woman! I never saw above a dozen women that wouldn’t half kill a horse, or a servant either, if they had their own way with them――let alone a man.” “There is no use in this shilly-shally way of yours, St. Clare!” said Marie. “Cousin is a woman of sense, and she sees it now as plain as I do.” Miss Ophelia had just the capability of indignation that belongs to the thorough-paced housekeeper, and this had been pretty actively roused by the artifice and wastefulness of the child; in fact, many of my lady readers must own that they would have felt just so in her circumstances; but Marie’s words went beyond her, and she felt less heat. “I wouldn’t have the child treated so for the world,” she said; “but I am sure, Augustine, I don’t know what to do. I’ve taught and taught, I’ve talked till I’m tired, I’ve whipped her, I’ve punished her in every way I can think of; and still she’s just what she was at first.” “Come here, Tops, you monkey!” said St. Clare, calling the child up to him. Topsy came up; her round, hard eyes glittering and blinking with a mixture of apprehensiveness and their usual odd drollery. “What makes you behave so?” said St. Clare who could not help being amused with the child’s expression. “’Spects it’s my wicked heart,” said Topsy, demurely; “Miss Feely says so.”