Lucy was still lying on her bed when she heard little knuckles at her door, and having answered without looking round, felt, a moment after, a tiny hand steal into hers. She opened her eyes, and saw Mattie by her bedside. Nor was she too much absorbed in her own griefs to note that the child had hers, too.
"What is the matter with you, Mattie, my dear?" she asked, in a faint voice.
Mattie burst into tears—a rare proceeding with the princess. It was some moments before she could sob out:
"I've been so naughty, Miss Burton—so very naughty!"
Lucy raised herself, sat on the side of the bed, and took the child's hand. Mattie could not look up.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Mattie. What have you done?"
"Such a shame. Poppie! Far country. Elder brother."
These were almost the only words Lucy could hear for the sobs of the poor child. Hence she could only guess at the cause of her grief, and her advice must be general.
"If you have done wrong to Poppie, or any one, you must go and tell her so, and try to make up for it."
"Yes, I will, for I can't bear it," answered Mattie, beginning to recover herself. "Think of doing the very same as the one I was so angry with when mother read the story! I couldn't bear to see Poppie in my place in mother's shop, and I was angry, and wouldn't go in. But I'll go now, as soon as I get my poor eyes dried."