But Maggie's troubles were not yet at an end for that morning. Breakfast was over, mamma gone to the nursery, papa to his library, and the children were alone in the breakfast-room.
"Midget," said Harry, "you know that pink fluted shell of yours?"
"Yes," answered Maggie.
"If you'll give it to me, I'll give you any two of mine you may choose."
"Oh, Harry, I can't! Aunt Annie gave me that shell, and I want to keep it for memory of her. Besides, it's my prettiest shell."
"Aunt Annie isn't dead," said Harry. "You don't keep a thing in memory of a person unless they're dead."
"She'll die one of these days," said Maggie; "every one has to die sometime, and I'll keep it till then. But I meant I wanted it because she gave it to me, Harry, and I can't let you have it." But presently, having forgotten about the penny, and thinking of the library box, Maggie added, "I'll give it to you for ten cents, Harry."
"Indeed, I shall not give ten cents for it!" said Harry. "It's not worth it and—why, Mag, you are growing as mean as,—as mean as—" Harry stopped, for he saw Maggie's color rising and the tears coming in her eyes, and he was not an unkind boy, who would willingly hurt or grieve his little sisters.
"She is a real miser," said Fred.
Poor Maggie! This was too much, and she burst into tears.