I used to love her to visit my mother.

She always brought me things, and she gave them to me as if they were on silver dishes--like a ceremony.

She was so prim, I used to call her Aunt Primrose.

She made me feel as if I could do anything I liked and break any law I pleased.

But all the time, like a saint in a stained-glass window, she always seemed to be saying, 'Yes, you'd like to, but you mustn't.' She was just like the moon.