She stopped suddenly, seeing the grave compassion in Margaret's eyes.
"SHE LOOKED UP, AND SAW GRACE SITTING ON A BROAD, LOW BRANCH."
"Don't speak to me!" she cried, angrily. "You are thinking—I know what you are thinking—that I cannot wear necklaces in bed. You think I am a wretched, helpless, faded old woman. I hate you! Go away!" and Margaret went.
As she passed along the garden-walk with bent head, musing soberly enough, something struck her lightly on the head,—a cherry, which fell at her feet. She looked up, and saw Grace sitting on a broad, low branch.
"Come up!" said the Goat.
Margaret smiled, and shook her head. "My dear Grace, I never climbed a tree in my life. I should not know where to begin."
"Time you learned!" said Grace, gravely. "There is no knowing when the race will return to arboreal habits. Come, Margaret, I want you!"
Margaret hesitated, and was lost. She looked about, half fearing, half hoping that somebody was in sight. No! no gardener came with his watering-can, no boy with his wheelbarrow. She turned back, to meet once more the compelling glance, and see the hand stretched out to help her. How it was accomplished, Margaret never knew, but, after a breathless moment, she found herself seated on the branch, too, clinging fast to the rugged bark, and not daring to look below.
"All right!" said Grace, composedly. "See, now, what good cherries these are! I have permission from Madame to kill myself with them, and am doing my best. They are white oxhearts, the finest cherry that grows!"