"I don't see how anything could do that," observed Agatha.
"Well, Agatha," returned her mother persuasively, "I think you had better go upstairs to the others now. Your aunt doesn't care for Helen, I know, but still she mightn't be pleased if she thought that we had neglected her."
Agatha obeyed rather reluctantly. Mrs. Bayden's eyes followed her with admiring glances. Agatha was her mother's idol. Not disposed to be over gentle even with her children, to all of whom she was honestly devoted, Mrs. Bayden could never find it in her heart to speak a hasty word to Agatha. The girl was well aware of her mother's weakness, and although, to do her justice, she was an excellent and helpful daughter, she had imbibed so high an opinion of her own talents, and of herself generally from this circumstance, that to everyone, save her parents, she was often insufferably overbearing. Then, too, she had been made the sharer of all her mother's hopes and plans, and neither Mr. nor Mrs. Bayden had any secrets from her. Her opinion was a distinct factor in the family councils, and her sharp, often pert, remarks about their friends and neighbours were rather encouraged than checked. Even her two big brothers were not allowed to tease her with impunity when they were at home for their holidays, whilst her authority was upheld in the rigid obedience that she tried to exact from Grace and Harold.
Perhaps for all her faults and foibles Agatha was rather to be pitied than blamed, but Helen was scarcely likely to see them in that light, and she may be pardoned for experiencing a sensation of disgust on seeing Agatha enter the school-room and calmly sweep away some chips of wood and cardboard out of which Harold, with some wire and a few rough tools, was trying to construct what he called an organ. Harold had a taste for mechanics, and was always dreaming of inventions. He did not often find such a sympathetic listener as Helen, to whom he was explaining his plans, and who was deeply interested in the description of his designs for cardboard organ-pipes and other contrivances.
"I think tin would be better," she was saying gravely as Agatha walked in. "I will ask my father—"
"Harold, you know that you oughtn't to make such a mess in this room. Clear it away at once."
Harold, whose face had been glowing with enthusiasm, looked up and saw his sister. His whole expression altered.
"I sha'n't," he said.
"Sha'n't indeed! you'll have to," and Agatha raised the table-cloth whereon the litter lay, and swept Harold's treasures on to the floor.
"There, now, you have spoilt those pipes, and they took me hours to make," screamed Harold, rushing at his sister and pushing her backward. "I hate you. You are a horrid disagreeable thing. I will never forgive you."