n't look glad."

"I am," said Penelope emphatically; "but I was thinking how kind every one
is, and I do want to do something for them--and I don't know how.
There don't seem to be any ways for children to help grown-ups."

Esther stood very still and quiet for a moment. Then, after a little shy
hesitation, she said, "Cousin Charlotte says we can always help each
other, only we must not be always looking out for big things to do.
If we do the little things, we shall do big things, too, in time."

"Oh," said Penelope. "I suppose I shall get to know what little things to
do. What I would like would be to give Miss Row a beautiful organ, and
Mrs. Bennett a greenhouse, and Cousin Charlotte--oh, a lot of money and
things, and--and--"

"I don't suppose Mrs. Bennett would know what to do with a greenhouse if
she had it," said Esther wisely.

"Don't you?" said Penelope disappointedly, and was silent for some time,
pondering the matter. "Well," with a sigh of resignation, "I'll give her
one of my pots of mignonette when it grows--that will be something--just
to show I care, and perhaps--"

But what Penelope intended to say further was lost for ever, for at that
moment there was a rush through the house and garden, a chorus of cries
and exclamations, and Angela and Poppy and Guard burst on them like a
small hurricane.

"Oh, do look!" cried Angela, her face flushed, her eyes dancing with joy--
"do look what Miss Bazeley has given me! Oh, it is such a darling!
And the poor mite has no mother, or brothers or sisters. And _do_ you
think Cousin Charlotte will let me keep it? It is a very good one, Miss
Bazeley says. What sort did she call it, Poppy? I said it over and over
so as to remember, and have forgotten it after all."

"It was somefin like the name of a sweety," said Poppy, racking her brain
so hard she brought a frown to her brow. "Was it somefin drop, or rock,
or--"

"I know it was something like Edinburgh Rock."

"Plymouth Rock, perhaps," said Miss Ashe's voice, close behind them.
In their excitement they had not heard her coming, and they all sprang
around with a start. "What is it, dear?" looking at the little basket
Angela was holding so carefully.

As if in reply, a tiny, very forlorn 'che-ep' came from the inside.

"It is a dear little motherless chick, Cousin Charlotte," cried Angela
eagerly. "A tiny baby one, and it's an orphan. A fox killed its poor
mother, and the other hens won't be kind