September 1.-Somehow I forgot to tell mother that Mr. Underhill was to be our teacher. So when it came my turn to have the class meet here, she was not quite pleased. I told her she could stay and watch us, and then she would see for herself that we all behaved ourselves. Sept. 19.-The class met at Amelia's to-night. Mother insisted on sending for me, though Mr. Underhill had proposed to see me home himself. So he stayed after I left. It was not quite the thing in him, for he must see that Amelia is absolutely crazy about him. Sept. 28.-We met at Jenny's this evening. Amelia had a bad headache and could not come. Jenny idled over her lessons, and at last took a book and began to read. I studied awhile with Mr. Underhill. At last he said, scribbling something on a bit of paper: "Here is a sentence I hope you can translate." I took it, and read these words: "You are the brightest, prettiest, most warm-hearted little thing in the world. And I love you more than tongue can tell. You must love me in the same way." I felt hot and then cold, and then glad and then sorry. But I pretended to laugh, and said I could not translate Greek. I shall have to tell mother, and what will she say? Sept. 29.-This morning mother began thus: "Kate, I do not like these lessons of yours. At your age, with your judgment quite unformed, it is not proper that you should spend so much time with a young man. "Jenny is always there, and Amelia," I replied. "That makes no difference. I wish the whole thing stopped. I do not know what I have been thinking of to let it go on so long. Mrs. Gordon says--" "Mrs. Gordon! Ha!" I burst out, "I knew Amelia was at the bottom of it! Amelia is in love with him up to her very ears, and because he does not entirely neglect me, she has put her mother up to coming here, meddling and making--" "If what you say of Amelia is true, it is most ungenerous in you to tell of it. But I do not believe it. Amelia Gordon has too much good sense to be carried away by a handsome face and agreeable manners." I began to cry. "He likes me," I got out, "he likes me ever so much. Nobody ever was so kind to me before. Nobody ever said such nice things to me. And I don't want such horrid things said about him." "Has it really come this!" said mother, quite shocked. "Oh, my poor child, how my selfish sorrow has made me neglect you." I kept on crying. "Is it possible," she went on, "that with your good sense, and the education you have had, you are captivated by this mere boy?" "He is not a boy," I said. "He is a man. He is twenty years old; or at least he will be on the fifteenth of next October." "The child actually keeps his birthdays!" cried mother. "Oh, my wicked, shameful carelessness." "It's done now," I said, desperately. "It is too late to help it now." "You don't mean that he has dared to say anything without consulting me?" asked mother. "And you have allowed it! Oh, Katherine!"