"I dare say. But it's only want of sleep. I shall be all right in a few days. Pug and Trot are two little plagues, but somehow I didn't want them to die. Did I, poppets?" she said, pulling the children to her knee.
"Here's your trunk," said Margaret; and Laura flew off to pay the expressman, and to unpack it.
"You poor child," said Mrs. Grey to Margaret, as soon as Laura had gone, "your picture is ruined! And I must say you have borne it beautifully."
"It may have looked beautiful on the outside," replied Margaret, "but it wasn't at all so inside. I could have slapped the children, I was so provoked."
"Jean Paul says, that an angel, incapable of feeling anger, may well envy one who can feel, yet control it."
"I would run the risk of being an angel if I could," said Margaret.
Laura now returned with her arms full. "This shawl, mamma, I knit for you; also this afghan, which is to keep your dear old feet warm. And, Margaret, this Madonna is for you, chicken!"
"For me!" cried Margaret, flushing with delight. "Oh, it is worth a thousand of the daub the children spoiled. How came you to get it for me?"
"I couldn't help it. I can't love people and never give them anything. Dear me, what fun it would be to go through the streets and chuck something into everybody's hand!"