ed might have said he was sorry; but he is a regular
tyrant to that little brown mouse of a sister of his."

Erminia and Maggie went, with their arms round each other's necks, to Mrs.
Buxton's dressing-room. The misfortune had made them friends. Mrs.
Buxton lay on the sofa; so fair and white and colorless, in her muslin
dressing-gown, that when Maggie first saw the lady lying with her eyes
shut, her heart gave a start, for she thought she was dead. But she opened
her large languid eyes, and called them to her, and listened to their story
with interest.

"Dawson is at tea. Look, Minnie, in my work-box; there is some silk there.
Take off your frock, my dear, and bring it here, and let me see how it can
be mended."

"Aunt Buxton," whispered Erminia, "do let me give her one of my frocks.
This is such an old thing."

"No, love. I'll tell you why afterwards," answered Mrs. Buxton.

She looked at the rent, and arranged if nicely for the little girls to
mend. Erminia helped Maggie with right good will. As they sat on the floor,
Mrs. Buxton thought what a pretty contrast they made; Erminia, dazzlingly
fair, with her golden ringlets, and her pale-blue frock; Maggie's little
round white shoulders peeping out of her petticoat; her brown hair as
glossy and smooth as the nuts that it resembled in color; her long black
eye-lashes drooping over her clear smooth cheek, which would have given the
idea of delicacy, but for the coral lips that spoke of perfect health: and
when she glanced up, she showed long, liquid, dark-gray eyes. The deep red
of the curtain behind, threw out these two little figures well.

Dawson came up. She was a grave elderly person, of whom Erminia was far
more afraid than she was of her aunt; but at Mrs. Buxton's desire she
finished mending the frock for Maggie.

"Mr. Buxton has asked some of your mamma's old friends to tea, as I am not
able to go down. But I think, Dawson, I must have these two little girls to
tea with me. Can you be very quiet, my dears; or shall you think it dull?"

They gladly accepted the invitation; and Erminia promised all sorts of
fanciful promises as to quietness; and went about on her tiptoes in such
a labored manner, that Mrs. Buxton begged her at last not to try and be
quiet, as she made much less noise when she did not. It was the happiest
part of the day to Maggie. Something in herself was so much in harmony with
Mrs. Buxton's sweet, resigned gentleness, that it answered like a