er a miserable little dog! Oh, how I hated Mr. Raymond for what
he said to me! You cannot think how cruel he was, Floyd, when I went
back to the house, after hiding away all the morning. The doctors were
up stairs with you, and nobody knew if you were dead or alive. He laid
all the blame on me--all of it--and kissed and petted Helen, and cried
over her as if she had been brought back from the grave. And the
housekeeper went up and packed my things, and I was sent out of the
house as if I were a murderer or thief, or something dreadful. Mr. Floyd
came home with me: he came after your mother. He was in a dreadful state
of mind, and scarcely spoke all the way, except once to tell me that I
was very young, and that I must pray to God to give me a heart. Just as
if I were not crying and sobbing all the time! Then, when mamma saw me
and I had to tell her all about it, she burst out angrily against me,
telling me that I had lost all my chances of having any of Uncle
Raymond's money. I had not thought of that before, and it did seem worse
than anything else. Do you wonder I have felt half angry with you?"

"You teach me to wonder at nothing, Georgy. You must forgive me for
injuring your chances of inheriting Mr. Raymond's money;" and I laughed
with some bitterness. "But take heart," I went on: "little Helen loves
you, and told me to tell you she was sure you meant no harm, and that
she was sorry you were sent away."

"Little proud, stuck-up thing!" exclaimed Georgy. "It makes me so angry
to think of that child's having everything under her orders--all the
servants down on their knees before her, with 'Miss Floyd' this and
'Miss Floyd' that! And then how ridiculously both her father and Uncle
Raymond worship her!"

"She was very generous to you, Georgy."

"And why should she not be? There is no reason why, instead of putting
up with a few rings and chains and dresses, I should not have half of
everything at The Headlands. I am older than she is, and need things
more, and I am prettier than she is: don't you think me prettier,
Floyd?"

"Yes, I think you are," I rejoined quietly. "But everybody says Helen
will grow up to be very beautiful."

"I don't believe it," observed Georgy tartly. "She is too pale, and her
eyes are too big: then she is such a solemn little thing. Don't you like
golden hair best, Floyd?"

"Yes."

"And blue eyes?"

"Well, I don't know. But yes, I do," I added, meeting hers.

"Do you really think t