Maggie was trying to make two things agree, her duty and her inclination. Sometimes these go very well together; but on this occasion they did not. Maggie strove to persuade herself that the last was the first; but neither baby, nurse, nor her conscience would let her deceive herself so, and she did not feel well pleased with either of the three monitors.
"I'll take her when I've finished this idea," said Maggie. "There, baby, play with the pretty blocks."
"Bad bocky," said baby, striking out with her little foot at the pile of blocks before her. Just then Bessie peeped around the door; and seeing that the baby was restless and discontented, and nurse busy, she came to do what she could for her little sister's amusement.
"Bessie make her nice house," she said, thinking that was what the child wanted; and she began piling the blocks on one another in a tower, which baby was to have the pleasure of knocking down when it should be finished, talking to her the while in a coaxing, chirruping voice.
Baby put three fingers into her mouth, and sat watching Bessie for a few moments, when, suddenly bethinking herself once more of the adventures of those famous pigs, and of the coveted seat upon Maggie's lap, she dashed over the half-built tower, and, turning again towards Maggie, fretted, "Up, up, wee, up."
Bessie, willing to save Maggie from interruption, took the small hand in her own, and began the oft-repeated tale; but neither did this answer. Baby, like many older people when they are sick,—aye, and when they are well too,—was not to be satisfied with anything but that on which she had, for the moment, set her fancy. Maggie's lap and Maggie's attention were the only things that could please her just then, and she could see no reason why she should not have them.
"Oh, you little bother! I shan't take you, and you can just let Bessie play with you, now!" said Maggie; "I am not going to stop my work just for such nonsense. Bessie can tell the pig that 'went to market' as well as I can; and she is not busy."
Baby might not understand the words, but she understood the tone, and knew very well that she was being scolded; and she put up a pitiful, grieved lip, which would have made Maggie feel sorry if she had seen it. But her eyes were bent upon her slate, not once turned towards little Annie.
Bessie looked from one sister to the other, and then said gently,—
"Maggie, dear, do you think you are doing the work our Father has given you to do now?"