little demoiselle?" she said with a
smile. "Yes, she is in my kitchen--she has been there for half-an-hour.
Poor little lady, she was in trouble, and I tried to console her. But the
dear ladies have not been anxious about her? Ah yes! But how sorry I am!
I knew it not, or I would have run up to tell Marcelline where she was."

"Never mind, Marie," said aunty. "If we had known she was with you, we
should have been quite satisfied. Run in, Sylvia, and tell Molly to come
back to the house to speak to your grandmother."

Sylvia was starting forward, but Marie touched her arm.

"A moment, Mademoiselle Sylvie," she said,--Sylvia liked to be called
"Mademoiselle Sylvie," it sounded so pretty--"a moment. The little sister
has fallen asleep. She was sitting by the fire, and she had been crying
so hard, poor darling. Better not wake her all at once."

She led the way into the cottage, and they followed her. There, as
she had said, was Molly, fast asleep, half lying, half sitting, by the
rough open fireplace, her head on a little wooden stool on which Marie
had placed a cushion, her long fair hair falling over her face and
shoulders--little sobs from time to time interrupting her soft, regular
breathing.

Sylvia's eyes filled with tears.

"Poor Molly," she whispered to aunty, "she must have been crying so. And
do you know, aunty, when Molly does cry and gets really unhappy, it is
dreadful. She seems so careless, you know, but once she does care, she
cares more than any one I know. And look, aunty." She pointed to a little
parcel on the floor at Molly's side. A parcel very much done up with
string, and an unnecessary amount of sealing-wax, and fastened to the
parcel a little note addressed to "dear grandmother."

"Shall I run with it to grandmother?" said Sylvia: and aunty nodding
permission, off she set. She had not far to go. Coming down the
garden-path she met grandmother, anxiously looking for news of Molly.

"She's in old Marie's kitchen," said Sylvia, breathlessly, "and she's
fallen fast asleep. She'd been crying so, old Marie said. And she had
been writing this note for you, grandmother, and doing up this parcel."

Without speaking, grandmother broke the very splotchy-looking red seal
and read the note.

"My dear, dear grandmother," it began, "Please do forgive me. I send
you all my brooches. I don't _deserve_ to keep them for vexing you
so. Only I didn't, oh, indeed, I didn't mean to _mock_ you, d