"Do see here, Margaret," said she, as we entered. "What ails this peppermint? See how foul it runs."
"The still is too hot, I think," said my mother, examining it; "and your peppermint is rather old. I should begin again, and with some smaller shoots. But, sister, Vevette hath something to say to you."
"About what?" asked my aunt absently, still busy with the refractory still; and then, recollecting herself, "Oh, about the book. Well, then, child, I forgive you, only don't do it again. I know I was warm myself, and said too much, but that is only my way. There, run, that's a good maid, and cut me some nice lengths of the peppermint. You have more sense about gathering of herbs, than any of the others—only don't draggle your petticoats. Why, what ails the child?" catching sight of my face. "She looks as if she had had an illness."
"She has been very much distressed about this affair," said my mother; "and so have I; but I think if I were to explain the matter to you as she has done to me—"
"Oh, let bygones be bygones," interrupted my aunt. "I hate explanations; and, as I said, I was over-warm. Do you want to cut the herbs, child? Do just as you please."
"Yes, aunt, I shall like it," I answered, glad of an excuse to get into the fresh air. I was at once pleased and vexed that my aunt should make so little of the matter. I went down to the peppermint-bed which grew under the shade of a yew hedge, and was busy choosing out the very best shoots when I heard voices on the other side of the hedge. "I shall never ask her to help in the school again—never!" said Margaret. "I could not forgive myself, if she should corrupt the children."
"If it had been anything else," said Andrew, in a voice of deep dejection; "anything but deception."
"To read such a wicked book, too," said Margaret.
"How do you know it was so very wicked, after all?" asked Rosamond.
"Oh, I looked at it last night as it lay on the table," said Margaret, quite sedately.