“She’s not so much,” said Walter, with a rather disgusted look, while he balanced a raspberry on the end of his fork. “Little bit of a red thing without any hair at all! and, do you know, it hasn’t even a single tooth.”
“Well, supposing it hasn’t,” said John, his pride very much hurt at the idea of a sister of his not being perfect, “it’s much happier without them, I’m sure. Doesn’t have to bother with any old dentist.”
“John! Walter! How can you?” said Martha Mary, almost in tears. “You are simply hateful to talk like that about the loveliest baby there ever was. You ask Miss Mason if she isn’t. I heard her tell Father that Midge was a ‘perfectly normal child,’ and although it sounds awful, he looked so happy that I know it must be something nice.”
“But where did she come from, my Sister Midge Margaret?” said Liza, who had been perfectly still ever since she had left Mother Dear’s room. No one knew, but Edward Lee suggested that they find Flip, and perhaps he could tell them. So away they all scampered, but not a trace of him could they find. Just as they were about to give up, Liza spied him way down in the sunken garden, his arms full of baby roses which he had gathered for the baby in the house who looked so like a rose herself. The children had never before seen him look so happy, except the day that Jane came and his book was accepted. So, of course, they knew it would be easy to get him to tell a story. Martha Mary took his hand and patted it and said:
“Please, Flip, we would like a really and truly story about Margaret.” Flip was delighted and said he had intended to tell one, anyway, and was coming to look for them.
“For,” said he, “I am very, very happy to-day, Ladykin Dear, so you shall have the nicest story I know how to tell.”
And this is what he told them—the story of Little Sister Margaret:
“Did you ever wonder, Children,” he began, “when you look at the sky at night, and see the millions of fairy stars twinkling and dancing up there, just why they are so bright and happy? Well, I’ll tell you the reason. It is the most wonderfullest secret there ever was, and the only people who are allowed to know it are the ones who love the star children very much.”
“I do,” said Liza. “Please tell me!”
“Me, too—and Me—and Me—and Me,” came in chorus from the others.