said Margaret softly. "And poor Harry?"

The doctor could hardly command voice to tell her. "Poor Harry, he was
last of all, he turned his back and looked into the corner of the seat,
till all the voices had spoken, and then turned about in haste, and the
two words came on the end of a sob."

"You will not keep him away on Sunday?" said Margaret.

"Far be it from me. I know not who should come, if he should not."

CHAPTER XXVI.

What matter, whether through delight,
Or led through vale of tears,
Or seen at once, or hid from sight,
The glorious way appears?
If step by step the path we see,
That leads, my Saviour, up to Thee!

"I could not help it," said Dr. May; "that little witch--"

"Meta Rivers? Oh! what, papa?"

"It seems that Wednesday is her birthday, and nothing will serve her but
to eat her dinner in the old Roman camp."

"And are we to go? Oh, which of us?"

"Every one of anything like rational years. Blanche is especially
invited."

There were transports till it was recollected that on Thursday morning
school would recommence, and that on Friday Harry must join his ship.

However, the Roman camp had long been an object of their desires, and
Margaret was glad that the last day should have a brilliancy, so she
would not hear of any one remaining to keep her company, talked of the
profit she should gain by a leisure day, and took ardent interest in
every one's preparations and expectations, in Ethel's researches
into county histories and classical dictionaries, Flora's sketching
intentions, Norman's promises of campanula glomerata, and a secret
whispered into her ear by Mary and Harry.

"Meta's weather," as they said, when the August sun rose fresh and
joyous; and great was the unnecessary bustle, and happy confusion from
six o'clock till eleven, when Dr. May, who was going to visit patients
some way farther on the same road, carried off Harry and Mary, to set
them down at the place.

The rest were called for by Mr. Rivers's carriage and brake. Mrs.
Charles Wilmot and her little girl were the only additions to the party,
and Meta, putting Blanche into the carriage to keep company with her
contemporary, went herself in the brake. What a brilliant little fairy
she was, in her pink summer robes, fluttering like a butterfly, and
with the same apparent felicity in basking in joy, all gaiety, glee,
and light-heartedness in making others happy. On they w