fortunate to be placed under her care. She has been good, very
good and kind, to me and mine."

"I wonder what he means by that," thought Maggie; but she made no
remark aloud.

CHAPTER III.

LADY LYSLE.

At about a quarter to four that same afternoon three girls prepared to
walk over to Meredith Manor. It was for such golden opportunities that
Molly and Isabel kept their best frocks; it was for just such
occasions that they arrayed themselves most neatly and becomingly.
Their dress, it must be owned, was limited in quantity and also in
quality; but on the present occasion, in their pretty white spotted
muslins, with pale-blue sashes round their waists and white muslin
hats to match, they looked as charming a young pair of English girls
as could be found in the length and breadth of the land. It is true
their feet were not nearly as perfectly shod as Maggie's, nor were
their gloves quite so immaculate; but then they were going to play
tennis, and shoes and gloves did not greatly matter in the country.
Maggie thought otherwise. Her tan tennis-shoes exactly toned with her
neatly fitting brown holland dress. The little hat she wore on her
head was made of brown straw trimmed very simply with ribbon; it was
an ugly hat, but on Maggie's head it seemed to complete her dress, to
be a part of her, so that no one noticed in the least what she wore
except that she looked all right.

Two boys with worshiping eyes watched the trio as they stepped down
the rectory avenue and disappeared from view. Two boys fought a little
afterward, but made it up again, and then lay on the grass side by
side and discussed Maggie, pulling her to pieces in one sense, but
adoring her all the same.

Meanwhile the girls themselves chatted as girls will when the heart is
light and there is no care anywhere. It was very hot, even hotter than
it had been in the morning; but when they reached the road shaded so
beautifully by the elm-trees they found a delicious breeze which
fanned their faces. Somehow, Maggie never seemed to suffer from
weather at all. She was never too cold; she was never too hot; she was
never ill; no one had ever heard her complain of ache or pain. She was
always joyous, except when she was sympathizing with somebody else's
sorrow, and then her sympathy was detached--that is, it did not make
her personally sad, although it affected and helped the person who was
the recipient of it to a most remarkable extent. One of Magg