"Oh, yes, your royal highness. Phil, if you have finished your tea——" and Joe laughed, inwardly knowing some other business had been concluded as well.
They had a delightful quadrille. Then Miss Butler sang a fascinating song—"The Mocking-Bird." Two of the gentlemen sang several of the popular airs of the day, and the party broke up. The little girl had gone to bed some time before, though she declared she wasn't a bit tired, and her eyes shone like stars.
The very next day it snowed, so the ladies could have no day at all. There was sleigh-riding and merry-making of all sorts. One day Dr. Hoffman came and took Margaret and her little sister out in a dainty cutter. Then he used to drop in St. Thomas' Church and walk home with her evenings. Father Underhill felt quite guilty in not forewarning his wife of the conspiracy, but one evening she mistrusted.
"Margaret is altogether too young to keep company," she declared in an authoritative way.
"Margaret is nineteen," said her father. "And you were only twenty when I married you."
"That's too young."
"Seems to me we were far from miserable. As I remember it was a very happy year."
"Don't be silly, 'Milyer. And you're so soft about the children. You haven't a bit of sense about them."
In her heart she knew she would not give up one year of her married life for anything the world could offer.
"Margaret knows no more about housekeeping than a cat," she continued.