ing. And I shall do it. Never fear. Now let me see, you were
talking about summer. Would you like to see how the birds keep summer?
That would help you a little.

_Several of the Girls_. Oh yes, indeed.

_Granny_ (_knocks on the floor. Door opens, and enter two little
children dressed in blue_). Come in, my birds. Are all the other birds
assembled to do my bidding?

_Blue Birds_:

We heard you call, yes, one and all,
And we were sent, we two;
So now, dear Lady, tell us, please,
What you would have us do;
For every little blue bird is
Devoted quite to you.

_Granny_. Then fly, and find us the wood where the laurel grows
thickest.

[_Exeunt birds._]

_Helen_ (_aside_). This is an interesting Old Woman, but I can't make
her out.

_Agnes_. Nor I, one bit.

_Granny_. Shall I tell you my dream, young ladies?

_Girls_. Oh! do tell us your dream.

[Illustration: I SAW A FIGURE HUDDLED IN A CORNER.]

_Granny_. I was passing through a long, deserted hall, when I heard
sounds as of some one sobbing. In a side room, whose door was just ajar,
entering, I saw a small figure huddled in a corner. The room was dark,
and I drew a shutter, letting the light in upon a young girl. Yes, she
was crying. I went softly to her, and touched her on the shoulder. "What
ails you, dearie?" I said. "Oh, I am not in it," she wailed. I took a
seat, and drew the poor child to me, and stroked her forehead, and
chafed her little cold hands. "Not in what, sweetheart?" I said. "Not in
the Club," she answered. "They are all in it but me." "But why are you
not in it?" I said. And she answered. "Because my dresses are sober and
old-fashioned. I am not bright and witty. I am plain. I believe I am
dull in my studies, because the girls look at me so. I am frightened,
and can't recite even when I know the lesson. Oh, I have not one friend
in the class." My little dear fell to crying again, and I had to take
her in my arms, and kiss her, and comfort her a long time before she
could tell me all of her story. "My mamma is dead," she said. "Those
girls don't know how dreadful it is to lose their mammas. My uncle takes
care of me, and he won't send me boxes of sweets, because he thinks they
are hurtful. And he thinks girls ought to dress plainly and
inexpensively. He has money enough. I have some money of my own, which
my mother told my uncle to take care of for me till I was of age. If
only I could make my uncle understand that