ever since I
came, but you were too clever for me; now I shall learn."

"Not my fault," said Margaret, merrily, "if you are a bat as well as a
dozen other animals, my dear. Well, girls--oh, I am ashamed, and it
really is most astonishingly virtuous of me to tell you about it.
Peggy, just before you came, I was very blue; deeply, darkly, most
unbeautifully blue!"

"Margaret! you, blue?"

"Hear Peggy making rhymes! Yes, I, blue. You see, the children were
gone, and I did miss them so, I hardly knew how to bear it. It is
impossible for any one to have any idea, girls, how children, children
that are little enough to need one's care, you know, and--and watching,
and thinking about, and all--how they get inside your heart and just
live there, all curled up in it, bless them! and these particular
children are the very dearest ones that ever lived, I do believe. Well,
so they were gone, and my heart seemed empty; wickedly and abominably
empty, for there was my own dearest uncle, and there were you, my own
Peggy, coming to spend the whole summer with me, and as if that were not
joy enough for three people, let alone one, I made all kinds of plans,
about studying, and teaching you housekeeping, and embroidery, and all
kinds of things. We were going to read so many hours a day, and work so
many hours,--my poor Peggy! you would have had an unmerciful kind of
time!--and everything was going to be quiet and regular and cheerful; I
never got beyond cheerfulness in my brightest dreams of the summer. But
even the cheerfulness was far ahead, and just then--before you came--I
really had difficulty sometimes in keeping a cheerful face for Uncle
John when he came in. Why--must I tell the whole?"

"Yes, Margaret, every word!"

"I used to go up to Susan D.'s room and cry over her little pinafores
and things. As for my pincushion, I fairly soaked it with tears when I
first found it. I told you about the pincushion, didn't I? Why, that
little lamb, for days before she went, was working away at something,
she would not let me see what. After she was gone, I went up to my room
for a quiet cry, and there was a gorgeous new pincushion, and 'I love
you,' on it in pins. My dear little girl! Well, girls, so--that was the
way I felt, and the way I acted, most absurdly; and then--all this
happened. First Hugh dropped from the skies; and then Uncle proposed the
house party, and you came, Jean, and the Merryweathers; and then you,
Peggy; and we di