of
her beloved Scots accent into the great and glorious words of Thomas
Campbell.

'Hollyhock, you 'll promise not to do any mischief while we are away?'
said Jasmine in her most coaxing voice when the hour for departure had
arrived. She hated beyond words leaving her sister at this crisis.

'Ah, well,' replied Hollyhock, 'I'll make no promises. I 'll tell no
stories, and if things happen, why, then, I am not to blame.'

'Oh, Holly darling, you frighten me!'

'Don't be frightened, Jasmine; I 'm learning to be _such_ a good little
girl.'

There was no help for it. The four Flower Girls departed, leaving the
fifth, and the naughty one, behind.

Now it was as impossible for Hollyhock to keep out of mischief as it
was for the kitchen cat at The Garden to refuse to drink cream, but
Hollyhock meant at the same time to go warily to work. Some more fresh
girls were coming on this special Saturday, which made it all the
easier for her to carry out her little plan. The Fraser girls were now
devoted to her, but her slave--the one who would do anything on earth
for her--was Margaret Drummond.

Hollyhock arranged, therefore, that Margaret should be her accomplice
on the present occasion. Her tales of bogies and ghosties--all of them
with a slight soupcon of truth in them--had excited the wonder and
fearful admiration of the schoolgirls, and when she suggested, as she
_did_ suggest, that 'poor little Leuchy might wipe the ghostie's hair
for her,' there was a perfect chorus of delighted applause.

'But he won't come; he won't dare to come,' said Margaret Drummond.

'Meg, hist, dear; let's whisper. Keep it to yourself. There's no
ghost; only they think, poor things, that there is, and that I dry his
dripping locks. Well, I want you to impersonate the ghost to-night. I
'll dress you up, and you shall cross the path of Leuchy. Why, she'll
turn deadly white when she sees you at it.'

'But, oh! I 'm frightened. I 'll get into trouble,' said Margaret.

'And you won't do that for me? I thought for sure you loved me.'

'I'd give my life for you,' said Margaret; 'but this is different.'

'It's easy to talk about giving the life, for that's not asked; but
what I want is the love, and the proof of the love is that you shall
dress as poor ghostie, and beg in a _mighty_ mournful voice of Leuchy
to dry your dripping hair. I have got an old cloak and a peaked hat
that belonged to my grandmother's family, and I 'll alte