"Then, I suppose, when your mind is cultivated, Uncle James, you will give mamma more money," Beth burst out hopefully. Uncle James blinked his eyes several times running, rapidly, as if something had gone wrong with them. "Beth, you are talking too much; go to your room _at once_, and stay there for a punishment," her mother exclaimed nervously. Beth, innocent of any intent to offend, looked surprised, put down her spoon deliberately, got off her chair, took up her plate of pudding, and was making off with it. As she was passing Uncle James, however, he stretched out his big hand suddenly, and snatched the plate from her; but Beth in an instant doubled her little fist, and struck the plate from underneath, the concussion scattering the pudding all over the front of Uncle James. In the confusion which followed, Beth made her escape to the kitchen, where she was already popular. "I say, cook," she coaxed, "give me something good to eat. My pudding's got upset all over Uncle James." The cook sat down suddenly, and twinkled a glance of intelligence at Horner, the old coachman, who happened to be in the kitchen. "Give me a cheesecake--I won't tell," Beth pleaded. "That's doubtful, I should think," Horner said aside to the cook. "Oh, bless you, she never do, not she!" cook answered, and then she fetched Beth a big cheesecake from a secret store. Beth took it smiling, and retired to the brown bedroom, where she was left in solitary confinement until Uncle James drove out with mamma in Aunt Grace Mary's pony-carriage to pay a call in the afternoon. When they had gone, Aunt Grace Mary peeped in at Beth, and said, with an unconvincing affectation of anger: "Beth, you are a naughty little girl, and deserve to be punished. Say you're sorry. Then you shall come to my room, and see me write a letter." "All right," Beth answered, and Aunt Grace Mary took her off without more ado. It was a great encouragement to Beth to find that Aunt Grace Mary was obliged to take pains with her writing. All the other grown-up people Beth knew, seemed to do everything with such ease, it was quite disheartening. Beth was allowed a pencil, a sheet of paper, and some lines herself now, and Aunt Grace Mary was taking great pains to teach her to write an Italian hand. Beth was also trying to learn: "because there are such lots of things I want to write down," she explained; "and I want to do it small like you, because it won't take so much paper, you know." "What kind of things do you want to write down, Beth?" Aunt Grace Mary asked. Beth treated her quite as an equal, so they chatted the whole time they were together, unconstrainedly. "Oh, you know--things like--well, the day we came here there were great grey clouds with crimson caps hanging over the sea, and you could see them in the water." "See their reflection, you mean, I suppose." Beth looked puzzled. "When you think of things, isn't that reflection?" she asked.