ie me to the
bed-post, and sew me up in a bag and throw me in the river. You would,
if you knew what I've been a doin'. I--I--_I've got a party_!"

Mother held her hand to her head and stared at me. Just then the
door-bell rang.

"That's some of the party," wailed I. "And those little bits of girls
were some, and this is some now, and more's a comin'. I'm _so_ glad
you didn't give me no pairsol, mamma."

"It can't be; Margaret, you haven't--"

"Yes, I have too. Yes, mamma, I've got a party! I'm wickeder 'n ever
you heard of. Wont you put me in the river? I want you to. O, I'm _so_
glad you didn't give me no pairsol."

Mother pulled the carpet and looked at me, and then pulled the
carpet again. She was considering what to do. Ruthie had gone to the
door when the bell rang; we heard her voice in the entry.

"Call Ruth in here to me," said mother, "and take your little girls
into the garden."

I knew by that, that she didn't mean to send them home; and O, how I
loved her. It seemed to me I loved her for the first time in my life,
for I never knew before how good she was, or how beautiful! Her head
was tied up in a handkerchief, and she wore a faded calico dress and a
tow apron, but I thought she looked like an angel. I lay flat at her
feet and adored her.

While I was taking my little girls into the garden and trying to play,
mother was talking to Ruthie about this strange freak of mine. This I
learned afterwards.

"I don't like to disappoint all these little children," said she,
"and I don't like to expose my naughty daughter either. You see,
Ruth, if they find out what a dreadful thing she has done, they will
not like her any more, and their mothers will not let them come to see
her. And that may make Margaret a worse girl, for she needs a great
deal of love."

"I know it," said Ruthie; "she's got a big, warm heart of her own, and
one can feel to forgive such children better than the cold, selfish
ones; you know that yourself, Mrs. Parlin. Why, bless her, she never
had an orange or a peach in her life, that she didn't give away half."

It gratified my poor mother to see Ruthie so ready to take my
part. It was more than she liked to do to ask the tired girl to go to
work again over the hot stove and prepare a supper for an army of
children; but Ruthie did not wait to be asked; for love of mother and
for love of me, she set herself about it with a hearty good-will. I do
not remember much that was said or don