"Why Margaret—Madge!" said the old lady tremulously, as she pressed the girl to her bosom, and then held her at arm's length that she might look into her face. "Why my dear—my dear! Why, how you've grown! Is this my little Margaret?—my little pale-faced Madge, who was no taller than the table, and all legs and wings?" and leading the girl into a bright little parlor, she sank into a chair, and holding her by the hands, looked her over with that loving admiration of which only a mother or a grandmother can be capable; and the old lady was justified, for the girl, as she stood, slightly leaning forward with a flush on her face and her eyes glowing with affection and emotion, presented a picture beautiful enough to melt the heart of an anchorite.
"Yes, it's I, grandma," she said, half laughing, half crying. "And you think I've grown?"
"Grown! My dear, when I saw you last you were a child; you are a woman now, and a very"—"beautiful" she was going to say, but stopped short—"a very passable young woman, too! I can scarcely believe my eyes! My little madcap Madge!"
"Oh, not madcap any longer, grandma dear," said the girl, sinking on her knees and taking off her hat, that she might lean her head comfortably on the old lady's bosom, "not wild madcap now, you know. I am Miss Margaret Hale, of the School of Art, and a silver medalist," and she laughed with sparkling eyes, which rather indicated that there was something of the wildness left notwithstanding her dignity.
"Dear, dear me!" murmured the old lady. "Such a grand young lady! You must tell me all about it. But there, what am I thinking of? You must be tired—how did you come from the station, dear?"
"I walked," said the girl.
"Walked! Why didn't you take a fly, child?"
The girl colored slightly.
"Oh, it was a lovely evening and I was tired of sitting so long, and—and—flys are for rich people, you know grandmamma," laughingly, "and although I am a silver medalist, I am not a millionaire yet! But indeed—" she added quickly—"I enjoyed the walk amazingly, it is such a lovely country, and my things are coming on by the carrier. And now I'll go and wash some of the dust and smuts away, and come back and tell you—oh, everything."
The old lady called the maid, and the girl, still shyly, led Margaret to a dainty little room which overlooked the flowered court, which filled it with the odors of the clematis and honeysuckle and sweetbrier.