But it
would sound silly for a boy to go on so, don't you see?"

"I am afraid I don't see very well, Basil, but no matter. The things I
am afraid of are spiders and caterpillars and cows! Is that what you
wanted to know?"

"N--not exactly!" said the boy; "but no matter, Cousin Margaret. You
haven't got a ball of twine, have you? Oh, yes, please! Thank you, that
is just exactly what I wanted. You always know where things are, don't
you? That's bully!"

The children had been very good for the last few days; singularly good,
Margaret thought, as she sat on the verandah in the pleasant twilight,
reviewing the day's doings, and wondering what happy day would bring
Uncle John back to her. Certainly, he would find a good deal of
improvement. Merton had not run away since his experience in the bog;
Susan D. was won, and Basil grew more and more helpful and considerate.
More than that, the children, all three of them, seemed to have quieted
down of their own accord. At this hour, they were generally shouting and
screaming, racing over the grass, or tumbling headlong from the trees,
keeping Margaret in a constant state of terror, and Cousin Sophronia in
one of peevish irritation and alarm. But now they had gone of their own
will to the summer-house, saying that they were going to tell stories,
and see how quiet they could be. They were quiet, indeed, for she could
not even hear their voices. Cousin Sophronia, coming out with an
inquiry, became instantly suspicious, and declared she must go and see
what they were about; but Margaret begged her to wait a little. "They
can do no harm in the summer-house!" she said. "And--Uncle John thought
we would better let them alone a good deal, Cousin Sophronia."

"My love," said the lady, seating herself, and folding her hands for a
good talk, "your Uncle John is a babe, simply a babe in these matters.
Even if he knew anything about children,--which he does not,--it would
be my duty, my positive duty, to shield him from all anxieties of this
kind. Why else did I come here, my love, except for this very thing?"

"Did you, then, know that Cousin Anthony wished to send the children?"
asked Margaret, perhaps not without a spice of gentle malice.

"Ahem! No, not precisely, my love! But--but it was my firm resolve to
protect dearest John from every species of annoyance. Every species, my
dear! John Montfort--good gracious! What is that?" She started to her
feet, and Margaret followed her examp