play in this story. It is too real. I think Die
Vernon lived."

"Why--didn't they all live?" said Maid Margaret,
plaintively. For the world of books was still
quite alive for her. She had not lost the most
precious of all the senses. Dream-gold was as good
as Queen's-head-gold fresh out of the mint for her.
Happy Maid Margaret!

"I am sure Die Vernon was real," Sweetheart went
on; "last night when you were all out cycle-riding
and I was waiting for my Latin lesson, I read a bit
of the book--a chapter that father has not told us.
And it made me sorry for Die. She wished that she
had been born a man, so that she might say and do
the same things as others. She was alone in the
world, she said. She needed protection, yet if she
said or did anything naturally, every one thought
what a bold, forward girl she was! I have felt that
too!"

"Rubbish!" said Hugh John, in high remorseless
scorn, "_you_ are not 'alone in the world!' No, not
much. And if we say or do anything to you, you
jolly well whack us over the head. Why, the last
time I called you--"

"That will do, Hugh John," interrupted Sweetheart,
in very Die Vernonish voice.

"Well, when I called you--'Thinggummy'--_you
know_--you hit me with a stick and the mark lasted
three days!"

"And served you right!" said Sweetheart, calmly.

"Well, I'm not saying it didn't, am I?" retorted
honest Hugh John, "but anyway _you_ needn't go
about doing _wooly-woo_--

"'My nest it is harried,
My children all gone!'"

"Oh, you are a boy and can't understand--or
won't!" said Sweetheart, with a sigh, "I needn't
have expected it. But Diana Vernon did make me cry,
especially the bit about her being a
Catholic--stop--I will find it!"

And she foraged among the books on the shelf for
the big Abbotsford edition of _Rob Roy_, the one
with the fine old-fashioned pictures.

"Here it is," she said with her finger on the
place.

"'I belong to an oppressed sect and antiquated
religion (she read), and instead of getting credit
for my devotion, as is due to all other good girls,
my kind friend Justice Inglewood might send me to
the house of correction for it. . . . I am by
nature of a frank and unreserved disposition,--a
plain, true-hearted girl, who would willingly a