Mr. Caryll, drily.

"And," said Mrs. Caryll, "it really isn't always the case that children
are difficult to understand. None of ours are but Hoodie. There's Maudie
now--she has always been a delicious child, and the little boys are very
nice, except when Hoodie upsets them. But for her, as she is constantly
told, there never would be the least ruffle in the nursery."

"But does it do any good to tell her so?" said Miss King.

Hoodie's mother smiled,

"My dear Magdalen," she said, "wait till you see her. What _would_ do
her any good no one as yet has found out. She is just the most
contradictory, queer-tempered, troublesome child that ever was known."

"Poor little girl," said Maudie's godmother, thinking to herself that a
little dog with such a _very_ bad name as Hoodie was really not to be
envied. She loved her own god-daughter Maudie dearly, and she knew it to
be true that she was a very nice child, but her heart was sore for poor
cantankerous Hoodie. You see her patience had not yet been tried by her
as had been the patience of all those about the little girl, so after
all she could not consider herself a fair judge.

And her first introduction to the small black sheep of the nursery did
not, it must be confessed, tend to prove that Hoodie's doings and
misdoings were exaggerated.

This was how it happened.

Maudie's godmother was generally an early riser, but this first morning
she somehow--tired perhaps with her journey--slept later than usual. She
was not quite dressed, at least her pretty curly brown hair was still
hanging about her shoulders, when a knock--a lot of little knocks, and
then one rather firmer and more decided--came to the door, and in answer
to her "Come in," appeared Martin, an old acquaintance of hers, beaming
with pleasure, and ushering in her little people, all spick and span
from their morning toilet, looking not unlike four rather shy little
sheep under the charge of a faithful "colly."

But when Martin caught sight of the young lady in her white
dressing-gown and unarranged hair, she drew back.

"Oh, ma'am, I beg your pardon," she said. "My mistress said I might
bring them in to see you first thing, as you were always dressed so
early, but I can take them back to the nursery till you are ready.
They've been worrying to come to you for ever so long."

"And you were quite right to bring them," said Cousin Magdalen,
heartily. "Come now, darlings, and let us make friends. I can tell