She grew up.
She performed this feat quite suddenly.

She was a young girl when she first came to us, and we had never considered her as anything else, when one evening she had a young man to see her.

Then we knew she had grown up.
We made no objections to her visitors,--she had several, from time to time,--"for," said Euphemia, "suppose my parents had objected to your visits." I could not consider the mere possibility of anything like this, and we gave Pomona all the ordinary opportunities for entertaining her visitors.

To tell the truth, I think we gave her more than the ordinary opportunities.

I know that Euphemia would wait on herself to almost any extent, rather than call upon Pomona, when the latter was entertaining an evening visitor in the kitchen or on the back porch.
"Suppose my mother," she once remarked, in answer to a mild remonstrance from me in regard to a circumstance of this nature,--"suppose my mother had rushed into our presence when we were plighting our vows, and had told me to go down into the cellar and crack ice!" It was of no use to talk to Euphemia on such subjects; she always had an answer ready.
"You don't want Pomona to go off and be married, do you ?" I asked, one day as she was putting up some new muslin curtains in the kitchen.