re not one." (Cynthia did
understand, ) "But I like you, and I want you to be my friend. Perhaps
when I get to know you better, you will come home with me sometime for a
visit."

Go home with her for a visit to that house in Washington Square with the
picture gallery!

"I want to say that I'd give my head to have been able to turn my back on
Miss Sadler as you did," continued Miss Broke; "if you ever want a
friend, remember Sally Broke."

Some of Cynthia's trouble, at least, was mitigated by this episode; and
Miss Broke having led the way, Miss Broke's followers came shyly, one by
one, with proffers of friendship. To the good-hearted Merrill girls the
walk home that day was a kind of a triumphal march, a victory over Miss
Sadler and a vindication of their friend. Mrs. Merrill, when she heard of
it, could not find it in her heart to reprove Cynthia. Miss Sadler had
got her just deserts. But Miss Sadler was not a person who was likely to
forget such an incident. Indeed, Mrs. Merrill half expected to receive a
note before the holidays ended that Cynthia's presence was no longer
desired at the school. No such note came, however.

If one had to be away from home on Christmas, there could surely be no
better place to spend that day than in the Merrill household. Cynthia
remembers still, when that blessed season comes around, how each member
of the family vied with the others to make her happy; how they showered
presents on her, and how they strove to include her in the laughter and
jokes at the big family dinner. Mr. Merrill's brother was there with his
wife, and Mrs. Merrill's aunt and her husband, and two broods of cousins.
It may be well to mention that the Merrill relations, like Sally Broke,
had overcome their dislike for Cynthia.

There were eatables from Coniston on that board. A turkey sent by Jethro
for which, Mr. Merrill declared, the table would have to be strengthened;
a saddle of venison--Lem Hallowell having shot a deer on the mountain two
Sundays before; and mince-meat made by Amanda Hatch herself. Other
presents had come to Cynthia from the hills: a gorgeous copy of Mr.
Longfellow's poems from Cousin Ephraim, and a gold locket from Uncle
Jethro. This locket was the precise counterpart (had she but known it) of
a silver one bought at Mr. Judson's shop many years before, though the
inscription "Cynthy, from Uncle Jethro," was within. Into the other side
exactly fitted that daguerreotype of her mother which