“To Meg and you!” said Marcus, contemptuously. “A pretty business for a boy of twelve!”
Hatty did not like contempt, and she answered, hastily: “I am only two years younger than you are, and mother says I am farther advanced in some of my studies!”
“Hurrah for the red-head; touch her, and she goes off like a brimstone match!” said Marcus, triumphantly, for he was tired of having all the crossness on his own side.
“Hatty’s hair isn’t red,” said Meg, angrily. “I heard a lady say, the other day, it was beautiful auburn hair; and she said Hatty was sweet-looking and good, and that is more than anybody will say of you.”
“Bad boy! bad boy! Go away!” said Harry, lifting his fat little leg and trying to kick Marcus with his wee foot.
Hatty could not reprove the children, for she herself had set the example of speaking angry words.
Heartily ashamed of herself, she said: “I am very sorry I spoke so to you, Marcus; it was not right. I ought not to mind being put with Meg, for she is a dear little girl, and I love her very much.”
“And I love Hatty, and you shan’t be cross to her,” said Meg, putting her arms round Hatty.
“It was Hatty who was cross,” said the little girl, sadly. “Poor Hatty is only trying to be good. She does wrong very, very often.”
“Hatty dood! Hatty dood!” said Harry, nestling at her side.