"People she knew nothing about?"
"She knew they were in great trouble, and judged, by the letter they sent her, that they were respectable, more or less educated people."
"Here comes the dear old thing, skipping like a young roe!" cried Laura, who had been to the window half a dozen times. "Now Pug and Trot—goodness! what have they been about while we were talking?"
Sure enough, what had they been about. Each, armed with a brush, had been daubing away at Margaret's canvas—their hands, faces, and dresses all colors.
"Oh, Margaret! they've ruined your picture!" cried Laura, in dismay.
"Oh, Laura! they've ruined their dresses!" cried Margaret; at the same time her enthusiasm about the children cooled down not a little. Here was a week's work destroyed.
Meantime, Mrs. Grey entered on this scene of dismay, and she and Laura were too glad to see each other to pay much heed to the children. Margaret rushed off after a bottle of turpentine, and old Mary, and Laura's nurse; and between them all, and a bowl of soap-suds, decency was restored, and the little ones made presentable, though not fragrant. The unexpected scrubbing, and a faint sense that they had been in mischief, gave them a somewhat awe-stricken look, which gave way, when grandma kissed them, to relieved smiles.
"It's all my fault," said Laura. "I ought to have warned you that these creatures are always up to something. How much harm have they done to the picture?"
"Oh, never mind the picture," said Margaret, who was herself minding it a good deal, but was trying to wrench her heart back to the little culprits.
"I am delighted to have you come home, Laura," said her mother. "You look worn out."