his
watering-can, no boy with his wheelbarrow. She turned back, to meet once
more the compelling glance, and see the hand stretched out to help her.
How it was accomplished, Margaret never knew, but, after a breathless
moment, she found herself seated on the branch, too, clinging fast to
the rugged bark, and not daring to look below.

"All right!" said Grace, composedly. "See, now, what good cherries these
are! I have permission from Madame to kill myself with them, and am
doing my best. They are white oxhearts, the finest cherry that grows!"

"Oh, but I daren't let go my hold of the branch," said poor Margaret;
"and my head is so dizzy. Dear Grace, how shall I ever get down again?
Won't you help me?"

"Not now! Now it is necessary that you should stay for a space, and
learn to accept this, as other situations. Begin gradually to look down
and about you. Fix your eye on that apple-tree, the one with the
hump-back; then let your eyes travel slowly, slowly, over the ground,
till they come here, under our feet. There! you see it is easy. Is the
dizziness gone?"

"It is certainly much better. I think perhaps, in a little while, I may
get used to it, but I am quite sure I never shall like it. Why do you
like to climb so, Grace? Why is it more comfortable to sit in a tree
than on a pleasant, safe seat on the grass?"

Grace shrugged her shoulders. "Who can say?" she said. "I have always
supposed that the soul of my grandam inhabited a bird. Shakespeare! And
you know I am an owl myself in regular, if not in good, standing. What
would you? It is my nature. And how do we find the Patient to-day? Did
she tell you that she left her bed twice yesterday?"

"Yes. Grace, it frightens me, all this wild work. Are you sure what you
are doing?"

"I am sure that there is nothing the matter with this lady. I think she
can be brought back to health by foul means, but not by fair. I think
that in this case the end justifies the means. _Voila!_"

Margaret looked at her earnestly; she met a gaze so full, so clear, so
brave, that her own spirit rose to meet it.

Suddenly Grace held out her hand. "Come!" she said. "Trust me, Margaret!
I am not a hobgoblin, though I may pose as one now and then. Trust me;
and--by and by--try to love me a little, for I loved you before ever I
saw you."

Margaret took the slender hand and pressed it cordially. "I will trust
you!" she said. "I have doubted, Grace, I confess; doubted and feared;
but now I