“It is very fortunate, if she does,” said Margaret; “but I fancy she would do it all the same, whether she liked it or not. Amy never thinks of herself.”
At this moment, Mrs. Guion entered, having at last soothed her little patient to sleep. Her first act was to bring a light screen and put it before her brother’s face, to shield it from the fire.
“Amy, why will you?” said Margaret. “You spoil Alan frightfully. He’s badly in need of discipline.”
“I wish you would take me in hand,” he said, looking at her from behind the screen with an eager expression, that disconcerted her.
Mrs. Guion’s entrance introduced new topics, and the tête-à-tête between the cousins was not renewed.
The next morning being rainy, Margaret betook herself, after breakfast, to the little up-stairs apartment which was the children’s general play-room, and as the three little creatures gathered around her, she drew Amy to her side and asked her to tell her what she thought of Baltimore on serious consideration.
“I don’t like it one bit, Auntie Mard’ret,” said Amy. “I think it’s a nasty, hateful, dirty place.”
“Why, Amy!” said Margaret, reproachfully, “I am shocked at your using such words. Where did a sweet little girl like you ever hear such bad words?”
“Oh, Auntie Mard’ret, I know a dreat deal worse words than that,” said Amy, with her eyes opened very wide. “Why, if I was to tell you the words I’m thinkin’ of, why you’d jump up and wun out of the woom.”
“Amy, I must insist upon your telling me,” said Margaret, feeling in duty bound to restrain her amusement, and administer the rebuke. “What words do you mean?”