somehow from the shop, myself. Papa never takes any notice, I'm sure,
what I have on; and he needn't find out anything about what's gone out
of the shop, until they 'take stock,' or whatever it is he calls it. And
then, if he flies into one of his passions--"

"My dear! my dear! you really ought not to talk so of your papa--it is
very wrong, Margaret, indeed--what would Mr. Basil say if he heard you?"

I determined to go in at once, and tell Margaret that I had heard
her--resolving, at the same time, to exert some firmness, and
remonstrate with her, for her own good, on much of what she had said,
which had really surprised and displeased me. On my unexpected entrance,
Mrs. Sherwin started, and looked more timid than ever. Margaret,
however, came forward to meet me with her wonted smile, and held out
her hand with her wonted grace. I said nothing until we had got into our
accustomed corner, and were talking together in whispers as usual.
Then I began my remonstrance--very tenderly, and in the lowest possible
tones. She took precisely the right way to stop me in full career,
in spite of all my resolution. Her beautiful eyes filled with tears
directly--the first I had ever seen in them: caused, too, by what I had
said!--and she murmured a few plaintive words about the cruelty of being
angry with her for only wanting to please me by being dressed as my
sister was, which upset every intention I had formed but the moment
before. I involuntarily devoted myself to soothing her for the rest
of the morning. Need I say how the matter ended? I never mentioned the
subject more; and I made her a present of the new dress.

Some weeks after the little home-breeze which I have just related, had
died away into a perfect calm, I was accidentally witness of another
domestic dilemma in which Margaret bore a principal share. On this
occasion, as I walked up to the house (in the morning again), I found
the front door open. A pail was on the steps--the servant had evidently
been washing them, had been interrupted in her work, and had forgotten
to close the door when she left it. The nature of the interruption I
soon discovered as I entered the hall.

"For God's sake, Miss!" cried the housemaid's voice, from the
dining-room, "for God's sake, put down the poker! Missus will be here
directly; and it's _her_ cat!"

"I'll kill the vile brute! I'll kill the hateful cat! I don't care whose
it is!--my poor dear, dear, dear bird!" The voice was Mar