“That’s right, Dot,” cried one of the girls, with a merry laugh. “Never refuse a helping hand to the wicked!”
“Encourage them once in a while and some time, soon or late, you will be rewarded,” chanted Marjorie in a solemn tone that brought a laugh from every one.
“Lucy was right, just the same,” said Margaret, with apparent irrelevance, and the girls turned inquiring eyes on the speaker as she sat, chin in hand, gazing into the fire. 44
Somehow the girls’ faces always sobered when they looked at Margaret, and when they spoke to her their voices softened to an undernote of tenderness never used among themselves. She had won her way steadily to every girl’s heart. They had marveled at her invariable sweetness of temper; they had laughed at her quaint, naive sayings, and, most of all, they had loved her for the warm, grateful heart that found room and to spare for them all.
So now Evelyn, merry, irresponsible Evelyn, said, with a gentleness that caused Mrs. Wescott to look at her in surprise:
“What do you mean, Margaret? Pictures in the fire again?”
“No; I was just thinking of what Lucy said when she first came in, before Dorothy jumped all over her,” said Margaret, with a twinkle in her eye that had only found its way there of late.
“Jumped all over her? What kind of language do you call that, Margaret Pratt Stillman?” reproved Marjorie, with her best grandmother air. “If you are not careful, the habit of using slang will grow upon you.”
“Oh, do keep still, Marj, for half a minute, can’t you?” cried Jessie. “I suppose you can’t,” she added, “but you might try, anyway. A great many impossible things come with time.”
“Speak with yourself, Johnette,” retorted Marjorie.