"Oh, nothing. We all laughed, that was all."
"He would drive me crazy in a week," said Margaret, scandalized.
"No, he wouldn't. He is such a good-natured little fellow you couldn't help loving him."
Margaret would not dispute the point, but she thought it all the more a fraud upon the child to spoil him, when he was created with agreeable qualities.
"I would not laugh at his mischief if I were you," she said, at last. "He'll get to think it is nice and smart to cut up capers."
"Oh, he'll outgrow his ways."
Margaret had her doubts, but had too little experience with children to venture to offer any further advice. After what seemed an endless period of time, Mrs. Cameron and Agnes departed, and the short wintry day came to an end.
Margaret's book of remembrance grew in spite of interruptions, for all sorts of kind deeds and loving deeds kept rushing in, and sometimes after writing for a time, she would lie back on her pillow in silent ecstacy, that she, a little while ago, only an "incumbrance," was now literally surrounded with mercies. If every young person would keep such a record, there would be more smiling and more gratitude in this frowning, grumbling world.
And now she was to take the air, and glide over the smooth, white snow that fell just in time to cover all the inequalities of the roads. Samp had not been much hurt when he fell from the box, and new horses had been bought in place of the pair that had to be killed after the accident.