"There's an old saying to the point--'You can't fool a child or a dog.'" Meanwhile Trixy went on thinking, and one day she came to her mother with a confession. "You see, mamma, I thought about it a lot, and I thought the best way not to repeat things was not to hear 'em, so I made up my mind that I wouldn't listen any more to anything that wasn't said right straight to me." "Sensible little girl," exclaimed Trif, showing her approval further by a shower of caresses and kisses. "Oh," said Trixy, trying to escape, "but you don't know how bad I am. Since I made up my mind to stop hearing things I've heard more of them than ever." "You poor little darling," exclaimed Trif, snatching the child into her arms, "you must stop tormenting yourself in that manner. Stop thinking about it, dear. Listen when you like, and when you don't. Perhaps that will cure you." "Oh, I know a better way than that," said Trixy, perching herself upon her mother's knee, and looking up with the expression of a cherub. "You remember that time when I had the earache and you put cotton, with smelly stuff on it, in my ears? Well, I couldn't hear a thing then. Now, I think----" "Be quiet, dear," exclaimed Trif. "You talk as if you were some dreadful creature from somewhere, instead of mamma's darling, sweet, good little daughter." A morning call put an end to the interview, but a few hours later, while Trif was sewing busily and Fenie was talking volubly and aimlessly about Harry Trewman, a light step was heard in the room, and Fenie dropped her subject for a moment, and exclaimed: "Tryphosa Wardlow Highwood, will you look at your daughter--this instant?" Trixy was evidently expecting to be looked at, and was pleased at the effect of her appearance. Over each ear was a great dark ball or wad of something, her mother could not imagine what, until examination showed that the outside of each was a rubber tobacco pouch, two or three of which Phil had discarded when he gave up smoking pipes. Inside of each was a mass of raw cotton, and the mouth of each bag was tied tightly around a juvenile ear. "I can't hear hardly a thing," shouted Trixy. "A little bit of cotton in each ear didn't make much difference, but a whole lot on the outside made lots, and the bags made more, beside keeping the cotton on. Now go on talkin' all you like; I'm goin' to read." "She shan't wear those dreadful things," exclaimed Fenie, untying the bags, despite Trixy's remonstrances. "She shan't keep cotton in her ears, either. The idea of the darling little thing being----" "Let her have her way a little while," said Trif. "It will amuse her, without harming any one else. Besides, you may accidentally mention Harry Trewman in the course of the afternoon, and----" There must have been a note of sarcasm in Trif's voice, for Fenie retorted sharply: "Tryphosa, this is your house, and if you dislike that young man so much that you object to the child hearing the sound of his name, why I----"