"Why," said Maggie, sitting up in her little bed, "I would think you ought to choose that other person to do it to. I'm your sister, you know," in a tone as if this quite settled the question.
"Yes," said poor Bessie, with a sigh. "But then, Maggie, what if I thought it most right to do it to you?"
"Well," said Maggie, hugging up her knees, and leaning her chin against them, while she gazed in surprise at Bessie,—"well, if you thought such a queer thing as that, why, I'd have to think you were a little bit crazy, Bessie."
"Yes, if I wanted to do it, Maggie; but, you know, I would rather do an unkind thing to any one than you. But if it seemed the truest, the honestest way, would you think I was crazy then?"
"Well, no," said Maggie, rather doubtfully; "but I don't see how that could be, Bessie; and I can't judge much if you don't tell me more about it."
"Maggie, last night when I went to the drawer in the hall-table, I saw something there, 'way far back, that looked like a rolled-up paper."
"Well?" said Maggie.
"And I think, but I am not sure, that it had a piece of red ribbon on it; but I did not wait to look again, and shut up the drawer very quick."
"Oh!" said Maggie, as she released her clasp on her knees, and rolled over on her pillow; "then that was what ailed you last night, I s'pose."
"Yes," answered Bessie piteously; "and you know what I thought it looked like, don't you, Maggie?"