"And you take back those words, 'unkind and cruel'? I never thought to hear my dear sister's child use such words to me."
Marjory's answer was a storm of tears.
"There, there, my child; don't cry. You won't think so hardly of me again. Come, let us forget all our troubles." And the doctor took out his handkerchief, and began to dry Marjory's tears, clumsily, it must be owned, but with the kindest intention.
"See, Marjory, the sun is shining, and everything out of doors looks bright and happy; you must be happy too. Follow the example of the flowers. They droop under a storm of rain, but when the rain leaves off and the sun begins to shine, they hold up their heads as straight as ever."
"Yes; but they aren't wicked like people are; they haven't got things to be sorry for."
"Tut, tut, child; now you want to argue. That opens up a very large field for discussion, and little girls have no business arguing. Run away into the garden and play with Peter or Silky, or both, for both dearly love an excuse for a game."
Marjory obeyed, saying to herself as she went, "Why will he always treat me as such a child? I'm nearly thirteen, and I want to know about things. I should like to know why people were made so that they can so easily be naughty, and so suddenly too, without really wanting to." And she thought of yesterday. "I suppose Uncle George knows everything; but grown-up people always say that you wouldn't understand, and they won't tell you anything. I wonder if trees and flowers are really as good as they look. I know birds and insects, and even little tiny ants, are naughty, because I've seen them quarrelling. I do wonder about the flowers, because they are just as much alive as people or animals."
Turning over this problem in her mind, she went slowly down the garden to Peter, who was at work again in his beloved vinery.
"Peter," she said, "do you think that flowers and trees and vegetables are ever naughty?"
The old man paused in his work and scratched his head thoughtfully.