l be very grateful to your Cousin
Sophronia for teaching you these things."

She turned away with the candle. Margaret, standing in the shadow, saw
the child still standing in the middle of the room, a forlorn, shivering
little figure, silent; the most piteous sight those tender eyes had ever
looked upon. Softly the girl closed the door. "Margaret," she heard her
cousin say. "Oh, she is gone down-stairs!" and the steps went away
along the entry. But Margaret groped her way to where Susan D. stood;
the next moment she had the child in her arms, and was pressing her
close, close. A rocking-chair was by; she had seen it, and knew where to
lay her hand to draw it forward. She sank down in it, and rocked to and
fro, murmuring inarticulate words of comfort. The night was warm, but
still the child shivered; Margaret, groping again, found a shawl, and
wrapped it round her. There was no more holding off, no more resistance;
the little creature clung around Margaret's neck with a desperate hold,
as if she dared not let her go for an instant. Her breast heaved once or
twice, silently; then she burst into a passion of tears, and sobbed on
her cousin's heart. "I love you!" cried the child. "You are good, and I
love you! Don't--don't leave me alone, please don't!"

Margaret held her close in her warm, loving arms. "My lamb!" she said.
"My little girl! Indeed I will not leave you. Quiet now, dearie; quiet
and don't cry! Oh, Susan D., I have no mother, either, dear; let us
love each other a great, great deal!" and Susan D. sobbed, and curled
closer yet, as if she would wind herself into the very heart that beat
so kindly and so tenderly.

So they sat, till the sobs died away into soft, broken breathings.
Margaret began to sing, and crooned one after another the old songs that
Katy used to sing to her when she was rocked just so on that broad,
faithful Irish breast. Susan D. lifted her head a little towards her
ear. "What is it?" said Margaret, bending down.

"I--I do like singing!" whispered the child.

Margaret nodded, and sang on. By and by the almost frantic clasp of the
small arms loosened; the head sank back gently on her arm; the child was
asleep. Margaret rose to lay her down, but instantly she started up
again, affrighted, and cried out, and begged not to be left alone. What
was to be done? Margaret hesitated; then she bade the child hold fast,
and slowly, carefully she made her way down the stairs and through the
passage