a great deal of the dear little friend I had just
called a lie-girl. If she hadn't loved me better, much better than I
deserved, she would have turned and run away. As it was, she called up
all her courage, the timid little thing, and fluttering up to my
mother, gently poked the end of the parasol into the bow of her black
silk apron.

"Please, O, please, Mrs. Parlin, do look and see how pretty it is."

That was as far as she could get for some time, till mother smiled and
kissed her, and asked once or twice, "Well, dear, what is it?"

I ran into the shed and back again, too excited to stand still.
Mother was always so tender of Fel, that I did think she couldn't
refuse her. I was sure, at any rate, she would say as much as, "We
will see about it, dear;" but instead of that she gave her an extra
hug, and answered sorrowfully,--

"I wish I could buy Margaret a parasol; but really it is not to be
thought of."

I dropped into the chip-basket, and cried.

"If she knew how to take care of her things perhaps I might, but it is
wicked to throw away money."

"O, mamma, _did_ you s'pose I'd let it fall in the _hoss troth_?"
screamed I, remembering the fate of my last week's hat, with the green
vine round it. "If you'll only give me a pairsol, mamma, I won't never
carry it out to the barn, nor down to the river, nor anywhere 'n this
world. I'll keep it in your bandbox, right side o' your bonnet, where
there don't any mice come, or any flies, and never touch it, nor ask
to see it, nor--"

"There, that'll do," said mother, stopping me at full tide. "I would
be glad to please my little girl if I thought it would be right; but I
have said No once, and after that, Margaret, you know how foolish it
is to tease."

Didn't I know, to my sorrow? As foolish as it would be to stand and
fire popguns at the rock of Gibraltar.

I rushed out to the barn, and never stopped to look behind me. Fel
followed, crying softly; but what had I to say to that dear little
friend, who felt my sorrows almost as if they were her own?

"You didn't ask my mamma pretty, and that's why she wouldn't give me
no pairsol."

No thanks for the kind office she had performed for me; no apology for
calling her a lie-girl. Only,--

"You didn't ask my mamma pretty, Fel Allen."

She choked down one little sob that ought to have broken my heart,
and turned and went away. You wonder she should have loved me. I
suppose I had "good fits;" they say I was honey-