shall not fear any more. Only--oh, my dear, don't frighten her
more than you have to. She really thinks you are--not right; and some of
the things she told me were certainly rather terrifying. That trance, or
whatever it was--well--what was it, Grace?"

Grace laughed, a laugh so merry and clear that the robins left off
eating cherries to see what the sound might be. "What was it? My child,
it was nothing. I fell down, I shut my eyes--again, _voila_! Her mind
was prepared for the marvellous, and she found it. Nothing simpler than
that."

"But you said something about--catalepsy! the very sound of that word
always frightens me, because of a story I read once. I don't wonder it
frightened Mrs. Peyton."

"I asked her if she had ever heard of it. A simple question! Apparently
she had. Come, let us eat cherries, and strive to approximate the
lettuce. Do you feel any green crinkles in your veins yet? And how is
the Innocent to-day? I love that child."

"Dear Peggy! I left her trying to teach Tuck to keep a biscuit on his
nose while she counted twenty. When I left, he could not get beyond ten,
when it was devoured with yelps of joy. But I have no doubt Peggy will
succeed in time; she has plenty of patience, and plenty of
perseverance."

Grace nodded sagely. "Plenty of patience and plenty of perseverance!"
she repeated. "Great qualities, Margaret. I wonder if I have them. I am
going to find out. Now--who is the tall person who is lame, and sits in
a summer-house?"

Margaret laughed. "He doesn't sit in a summer-house all the time," she
said. "That is Peggy's brother, Hugh Montfort. I want you to know him,
Grace; he is so delightful; I know you will be friends. Come over to tea
this evening, won't you? Mrs. Peyton promised me you should; you know we
have been trying for you ever since Peggy came. Do come! Uncle John is
planning something for us; he will not tell me what, but it is sure to
be something delightful. Promise that you will come; and then you must
really help me get down, my dear, for the girls will be wondering where
I am."

"Your hands here--so! Let yourself swing clear--don't be afraid; hang
still--now drop easily! There! was that so very dreadful? Good-by, cool,
green, lovely one! I will come to-night; good-by!"

"What will Rita say," Margaret questioned herself as she took her way
homeward, "when I write her that I have been climbing cherry-trees, and
getting down from them without a ladder?"

CH