from favor. She colored angrily,
but took no other notice of that girlish sarcasm, and answered with
unexpected amiability...

"It shall be as you please, Mrs. Chester. I'll give up my place here
at once, and attend to the flowers, if you like."

"You can put your own things on your own table, if you prefer," began
May, feeling a little conscience-stricken, as she looked at the pretty
racks, the painted shells, and quaint illuminations Amy had so
carefully made and so gracefully arranged. She meant it kindly, but
Amy mistook her meaning, and said quickly...

"Oh, certainly, if they are in your way," and sweeping her
contributions into her apron, pell-mell, she walked off, feeling that
herself and her works of art had been insulted past forgiveness.

"Now she's mad. Oh, dear, I wish I hadn't asked you to speak, Mama,"
said May, looking disconsolately at the empty spaces on her table.

"Girls' quarrels are soon over," returned her mother, feeling a trifle
ashamed of her own part in this one, as well she might.

The little girls hailed Amy and her treasures with delight, which
cordial reception somewhat soothed her perturbed spirit, and she fell
to work, determined to succeed florally, if she could not artistically.
But everything seemed against her. It was late, and she was tired.
Everyone was too busy with their own affairs to help her, and the
little girls were only hindrances, for the dears fussed and chattered
like so many magpies, making a great deal of confusion in their artless
efforts to preserve the most perfect order. The evergreen arch
wouldn't stay firm after she got it up, but wiggled and threatened to
tumble down on her head when the hanging baskets were filled. Her best
tile got a splash of water, which left a sepia tear on the Cupid's
cheek. She bruised her hands with hammering, and got cold working in a
draft, which last affliction filled her with apprehensions for the
morrow. Any girl reader who has suffered like afflictions will
sympathize with poor Amy and wish her well through her task.

There was great indignation at home when she told her story that
evening. Her mother said it was a shame, but told her she had done
right. Beth declared she wouldn't go to the fair at all, and Jo
demanded why she didn't take all her pretty things and leave those mean
people to get on without her.

"Because they are mean is no reason why I should be. I hate such
things, and though I think I've a r