"Well, dear mamma," said Mabel, twining her arm round her neck, and kissing her affectionately, "I would not have you miss my dear papa less than you do; but you must not tease yourself about anything. Did I not promise to try and supply his place? I do not mean to let you have any trouble at all. Here is your desk and a new pen—the ink is a little too light, but it writes freely—and now, while you answer my aunt's letter, you will be glad to get rid of us."
"I do not want to drive you away, love," replied her mother; "but you know I can never write if there is the least noise—so, perhaps, you had better go, and take Amy with you. I have not written for such an age, it makes me quite nervous."
"Oh, yes, I know, mamma dear; come, Amy, we will go and look to the spare room. I will seal your letter, mamma, when it is finished."
Mabel was soon busy in thinking over the accommodations necessary for visitors, with Betsy's aid, amidst Amy's incessant questions.
"Do you think, Mabel," she began, "that Lucy is very little?"
"I do not much think she is little at all," replied Mabel.
"But aunt Villars called her, my little girl," persisted Amy.
"Yes, but many mammas talk of grown up children in the same way."
"Do you think," said Amy, after watching her sister for a few minutes in silence, "I had better put some of my books on the shelf for her to read, if she happens to like them?"