"Bless the child; she'll break me to bits," said Aunt Norah. "Pushkeen, you don't know what you are talkin' of."
"I do; I know quite well. You sent me to your bedroom the other day and I saw a very long plait of hair that wasn't yours lying on the dressing table. If you were young the hair would sprout like bulbs out of your head, and on the day that I watched you and Aunt Bride and Mr. Flannigan playing in the garden, I thought I'd find out about him, so I got Joe, the garden boy, to fetch me a ladder, and he did so, and I climbed up and sat in the bough of a tree, and Samuel's hair was all bald on the top, so you are neither of you young, and you oughtn't to pretend; it is wrong."
"Oh, you are a dreadful, dreadful pushkeen," said Aunt Norah. "But I'll forgive you all your wild ways and tell you my little beautiful secrets if you promise not to say a word of this—this meeting, to my father, nor my sisters, nor my brothers." Margot was rather beguiled by the thought of being Aunt Norah's confidante.
"I'll keep your secret as safe—as safe can be for one week," she said. "You can tell himself there'll be only ten, and that I my very self will pick them out of the choicest cabbages. Now, good-bye. I'd love to see you hugging each other, and I'm sorry they won't be pretty, but, you see, you aren't, and he isn't, and the cabbages are very particular whom they send the wee babies to. Well, I must be off." Little Margot rushed back to the house. She felt rather cold and chill. Aunt Norah's news by no means pleased her. She had never liked Mr. Flannigan, and she disliked him more than ever now. Still, she had promised to keep Aunt Norah's secret for a week. It was an awful burden on her little mind; still, she must keep her word.
The week went by, and after the first day, Margot began to enjoy herself. It was so very interesting to watch Mr. Flannigan blush. She had only to stare first at him, then at Aunt Norah, and behold, his entire face was crimson. She made little experiments with his blushes, and they succeeded to such an extent that the poor man was in agony. At last Aunt Norah had to take her away and speak to her.
"Do you know, pushkeen," she said, "that you are making my Samuel very miserable?"
"I?" said Margot. "I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, but you are. You keep looking at him."
"I can't help it; a cat may look at a king, Auntie Norah."
"Yes; but a little girl ought not to make a very reverend and pious and good clergyman uncomfortable."