In Miss Garth's favorite phrase, "Magdalen was born with all the senses -- except a sense of order."
"Late again!" chimed in Miss Garth, when Magdalen came her way next.
"Suffering!" repeated Magdalen, recovering her breath, and the use of her tongue with it.
"Yes, you darling old Goth, a symphony by the great Beethoven!" added Magdalen. "How can you say you were not amused?
I want the key," said Magdalen, passing from the imitation at the breakfast-table to the post-bag on the sideboard with the easy abruptness which characterized all her actions.
Though his youngest daughter might resemble him in nothing else, it was easy to see where Magdalen's unmethodical habits came from.
"You are kind to us in everything else, papa; and you make kind allowances for Magdalen's high spirits -- don't you?" said the quiet Norah, taking her father's part and her sister's with so little show of resolution on the surface that few observers would have been sharp enough to detect the genuine substance beneath it.
As for Magdalen," he continued, addressing his wife and Miss Garth, "she's an unbroken filly.
The door opened, and Magdalen returned with the key.
You lazy old darling, you hate answering letters, don't you?" pursued Magdalen, dropping the postman's character and assuming the daughter's.
When he came to the fifth his attention, which had hitherto wandered toward Magdalen, suddenly became fixed on the post-mark of the letter.
Stooping over him, with her head on his shoulder, Magdalen could see the post-mark as plainly as her father saw it -- NEW ORLEANS.