s it
drove off; then he drew a long breath, and threw out his arms, opening
his broad chest.

"Ha!" said he. "So that is over. Here endeth the-- What, crying, May
Margaret? Come and sit here beside me, child; or shall we come out and
see the roses? Really astonishing to have this number of roses in
August; but some of these late kinds are very fine, I think."

Chatting quietly and cheerfully, he moved from one shrub to another,
while Margaret wiped her eyes, and gradually quieted her troubled
spirit.

"Thank you, Uncle John!" she said, presently. "You know, don't you? You
always know, just as papa did. But--but I never heard of any one's doing
such a thing, did you?"

"Didn't you, my dear? Well, you see, you didn't know your Cousin
Sophronia when she was a girl. And--let us be just," he added. "You,
belonging to the new order, have no idea of what many people thought and
did forty years ago. I have no doubt, from my recollection of my Aunt
Melissa, Sophronia's mother, that she read all her children's letters. I
know she searched my pockets once, thinking I had stolen sugar; I
hadn't, that time, and my white rat was in my pocket, and bit her, and I
was glad."

Seeing Margaret laugh again, Mr. Montfort added, in a different tone,
"And now, I must see those boys."

The children were sent for to the study, where they remained for some
time. Basil and Susan D. came out looking very grave; they went up to
the nursery in silence, and sat on the sofa, rubbing their heads
together, and now and then exchanging a murmur of sympathy and
understanding. Merton remained after the others, and when he emerged
from the fatal door, he was weeping profusely, and refused to be
comforted by Elizabeth; and was found an hour after, pinching Chico's
tail, and getting bitten in return. Telling Margaret about it
afterward, Mr. Montfort said:

"Basil and the little girl tell a perfectly straight story. It is just
as I supposed; they were trying the old ghost trick that we other boys,
your father and Richard and I, Margaret, played on Sophronia years ago.
If the thunder-storm had not brought you all up-stairs, there would have
been some very pretty ghost-gliding, and the poor soul would very likely
have been frightened into a real fit instead of an imaginary one.
Children don't realise that sort of thing; I certainly did not, nor my
brothers; but I think these two realise it now, and they are not likely
to try anything of the kind again.