ones wanted stitching up at the
side, and Martin always says mirocco shoes never _are_ the same again
after they get soaked."

"I must go after her, at all costs," said Magdalen, lifting up her long
skirts as well as she could to prevent their getting any _more_ than
their share of drenching. "Now, Duke and Hec, stay where you are,
whatever you do, or better still, go back into the billiard-room. I
trust you, Maudie, to take care of them. I am afraid their feet are wet
already."

"Yes, and Hec gets croup when his feet are wet," replied Maudie,
consolingly. "Never mind though, Cousin Magdalen. I'll take him in, and
take off his shoes and stockings by the fire and dry them."

"Thank you, dear," said Magdalen, at the bottom of her heart, though she
would not have said so to the children, considerably relieved that
Martin need not be summoned to the rescue. "She would really feel that I
could not be trusted with them, and it would be such a pity, just when I
wanted so much to be of use and to help Beatrice." (Beatrice was the
name of the children's mother.)

It was no very pleasant business following Hoodie across the long, soppy
grass; even if one were quite careless of the effect on one's clothes,
the soaking of one's feet and ankles was disagreeable, to say the least.
But Magdalen faced it bravely, and found herself at last beside her
troublesome charge. Hoodie, not content with having thoroughly drenched
her fat little legs and feet in their pretty clothing of open-work socks
and "mirocco" slippers, was actually down on her knees in the wet grass,
tenderly stroking the ruffled feathers of the little bird whose
misfortunes had aroused her sympathy, while tears poured down her face,
and her voice was broken with sobs as, looking up, she saw her cousin,
and cried out--

"Oh, Maudie's godmother, him's dead. The innicent little sweet. I do
believe him's dead, or just going to deaden. I daren't lift him up. Oh
dear, oh dear!"

It was impossible to scold her--her grief was so real; so with one
rueful glance at the destruction already wrought on the nice blue merino
frock and frilled muslin pinafore, Magdalen set to work to soothe and
comfort the excited little girl.

"Hush, Hoodie dear," she said. "You really mustn't cry so, even if the
poor little bird is dead."

"But Hoodie can't help it, for you know, Maudie's godmother, little
birds doesn't go to heaven when they's dead--not like good people, you
know, so I can'