"Because," replied Amy, summoning up all her courage, "I cannot think that Miss Morton really did leave Rose all by herself in that dangerous field."
"Then what do you think she did?" asked Lucy.
"I don't know; but it would have been much more like her to have left
Rose with you."
"Then you think," exclaimed Miss Cunningham, indignantly, "that Margaret and I have been saying what is not true."
"I don't mean to make you angry," replied Amy, whose naturally timid disposition was for the moment overawed; "but if there is any excuse to be made, Margaret, it would be very, very kind in you to say something to my aunt. I am sure you would, if you saw how miserable Miss Morton is at the idea of going away."
"What do you wish me to do?" asked Margaret. "Mamma will not listen to me."
"But she would listen to you," continued Amy, "if you had anything real to tell her,—I mean, not merely an excuse."
"I cannot see," interrupted Miss Cunningham, "why you should interfere and talk to us in this way; you would make out if you could that we had been keeping back something. Miss Morton can tell all there is to be told just as well as we can. Come, Margaret, do let us go up-stairs; I am quite tired of sitting here in my walking things."
"No, no," exclaimed Amy, seizing her cousin by the dress; "pray,
Margaret, do not go yet."
"What good can I do you by staying?" said Margaret, whose resolution was somewhat wavering.