e; a black
object, and a white object; two small legs, one bare, the other in
stocking and shoe. The legs were swinging back and forth, keeping time
to a clear and lively whistle, and now and then one of them gave a
little kick, as of pure content.

"Do you see?" demanded Miss Sophronia, in tragic tone.

"Yes, Cousin Sophronia, I see. I can't think--but I'll run up at once
and see what it means, and bring the child down. I--" Margaret waited to
say no more, but flew up-stairs, only pausing to cast a hasty glance
into Susan D.'s room, the door of which stood open. The room was empty;
so, when she reached the top of the stairs, was the nursery. She entered
a small room that was used as a storeroom; its one window looked
directly on the roof, and this window stood wide open. Running to look
out, Margaret saw Susan D., seated astride of a gable, dangling her legs
as aforesaid, and apparently enjoying herself immensely. The whistle
stopped when she saw her cousin, and the cheerful look gave place to one
of sullenness.

"Susan, my dear child, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for my other stocking," replied the child.

"Your stocking?"

"Yes. I dropped it out of the window, and I came up here to look for
it."

"She thought she could see better!" explained Basil, appearing suddenly
from behind the chimney. "I--good morning, Cousin Margaret. I slept very
well, thank you."

"So did I!" chimed in Susan D., with suspicious readiness. "I slept very
well. Good morning, Cousin Margaret, thank you!"

"That isn't right," said Basil, as Margaret looked in bewilderment from
one to the other; "you are such a stupid, Susan D. You see," he added,
turning to Margaret, "I've been telling her that she's got to have
better manners, and speak when she's spoken to; and, if she behaves
pretty well, she's going to get some hard stamps she wants; and if she
doesn't--"

"I am," said Susan D. "Amn't I, Cousin Margaret?"

It was the first time the child had addressed Margaret directly, and the
latter hastened to assure her that her morning greeting would do very
well indeed. "But, dear children," she cried, "I cannot let you stay
here. Indeed, you ought never to have come up; I don't believe Uncle
John would like to have you on the roof at all; and it is
breakfast-time, and Cousin Sophronia has been a good deal frightened,
Susie, at seeing your legs dangling over her window in this fashion."

"We aren't hurting the old roof!" cried bo