I wish I had time to tell you in the fulness of detail how those two spinsters brought up Mary, but there is so much else to put before you that I dare not dally here.

Still, I am going to find time to say that all the love and affection which Miss Cordelia and Miss Patty had ever woven into their fancies were now showered down upon Mary--falling softly and sweetly like petals from two full-blown roses when stirred by a breeze from the south.
When she was a baby, Mary's nose had an upward tilt.
One morning after Miss Cordelia had bathed her (which would have reminded you of a function at the court of the Grand Monarque, with its Towel Holder, Soap Holder, Temperature Taker and all and sundry) she suddenly sent the two maids and the nurse away and, casting dignity to the winds, she lifted Mary in a transport of love which wouldn't be denied any longer, and pretended to bite the end of the poor babe's nose off.
"Oh, I know it's candy," she said, mumbling away and hugging the blessed child.

"It's even got powdered sugar on it--" "That's talcum powder," said Miss Patty, watching with a jealous eye.
"Powdered sugar, yes," persisted Miss Cordelia, mumbling on.

"I know.

And I know why her nose turns up at the end, too.