Between her and Silence Withers, Myrtle Hazard found no rest for her soul.

Each of them was for untwisting the morning-glory without waiting for the sunshine to do it.

Each had her own wrenches and pincers to use for that purpose.

All this promised little for the nurture and admonition of the young girl, who, if her will could not be broken by imprisonment and starvation at three years old, was not likely to be over-tractable to any but gentle and reasonable treatment at fifteen.
Aunt Silence's engine was responsibility,--her own responsibility, and the dreadful consequences which would follow to her, Silence, if Myrtle should in any way go wrong.

Ever since her failure in that moral coup d'etat by which the sinful dynasty of the natural self-determining power was to be dethroned, her attempts in the way of education had been a series of feeble efforts followed by plaintive wails over their utter want of success.