her new parent."

"I won't kiss you, Mr. Martin," said Maggie.

"Oh, come, come--shy, is she? Let me tell you, Popsy-wopsy, that every
man wouldn't want to kiss you.--She is not a bit like you, my dear
Victoria. Wherever did she get that queer little face? She is no
beauty, and that I will say.--Now, your mother, Popsy, is a most
elegant woman; any one can see that she is a born aristocrat; but I
hate 'em, my dear--hate 'em! I am one of those who vote for the
abolition of the House of Lords. Give me the Commons; no bloated Lords
for me. Well, you're a bit took aback, ain't you? Your mother and
me--we settled things up very tidy while you were sporting in the
country. I like you all the better, my dear, for being plain. I don't
want no beauties except my beloved Victoria. She's the woman for
me.--Ain't you, my Little-sing? Eh dear! Eh dear! It's we three who'll
have the fun.--I'll take you right into my heart, Popsy-wopsy, and
snug and comfortable you'll find yourself there."

Poor Maggie! The overwhelming contrast between this scene and the
scenes of yesterday! The awful fact that her mother was going to marry
such a being as Mr. Martin overpowered her with such a sense of horror
that for the time she felt quite dumb and stupid.

Mr. Martin, however, was in a radiant humor. "Now then, Little-sing,"
he said, addressing Mrs. Howland, "where's the tea! Poor Bo-peep wants
his tea. He's hungry and he's thirsty, is Bo-peep. Little-sing will
pour out Bo-peep's tea with her own pretty, elegant hands, and butter
his muffins for him, and Cross-patch in the corner can keep herself
quiet."

"May I go into our bedroom, mother?" said Maggie at that juncture.

"No, miss, you may not," said Martin, suddenly rousing himself from a
very comfortable position in the only easy-chair the room afforded. "I
have something to say to you, and when I have said it you may do what
you please."

"Stay quiet, dear Maggie, for the present," said Mrs. Howland.

The poor woman felt a queer sense of shame. Bo-peep and Little-sing
had quite an agreeable time together when they were alone. She did not
mind the boisterous attentions of her present swain; but with Maggie
by there seemed to be a difference. Maggie made her ashamed of
herself.

Maggie walked to the window, and, taking a low chair, sat down. Her
heart was beating heavily. There was such a misery within her that she
could scarcely contain herself. Could anything be done to rescue her