“Where is Erminia, Frank?” asked his father, speaking over Maggie’s shoulder, while he still held her hand.  “I want to take Mrs. Browne to your mother.  I told Erminia to be here to welcome this little girl.”

“I’ll take her to Minnie; I think she’s in the garden.  I’ll come back to you,” nodding to Edward, “directly, and then we will go to the rabbits.”

So Frank and Maggie left the great lofty room, full of strange rare things, and rich with books, and went into the sunny scented garden, which stretched far and wide behind the house.  Down one of the walks, with a hedge of roses on either side, came a little tripping fairy, with long golden ringlets, and a complexion like a china rose.  With the deep blue of the summer sky behind her, Maggie thought she looked like an angel.  She neither hastened nor slackened her pace when she saw them, but came on with the same dainty light prancing step.

“Make haste, Minnie,” cried Frank.

But Minnie stopped to gather a rose.

“Don’t stay with me,” said Maggie, softly, although she had held his hand like that of a friend, and did not feel that the little fairy’s manner was particularly cordial or gracious.  Frank took her at her word, and ran off to Edward.

Erminia came a little quicker when she saw that Maggie was left alone; but for some time after they were together, they had nothing to say to each other.  Erminia was easily impressed by the pomps and vanities of the world; and Maggie’s new handsome frock seemed to her made of old ironed brown silk.  And though Maggie’s voice was soft, with a silver ringing sound in it, she pronounced her words in Nancy’s broad country way.  Her hair was cut short all round; her shoes were thick, and clumped as she walked.  Erminia patronized her, and thought herself very kind and condescending; but they were not particularly friendly.  The visit promised to be more honorable than agreeable, and Maggie almost wished herself at home again.  Dinner-time came.  Mrs. Buxton dined in her own room.  Mr. Buxton was hearty, and jovial, and pressing; he almost scolded Maggie because she would not take more than twice of his favorite pudding:  but she remembered what her mother had said, and that she would be watched all day; and this gave her a little prim, quaint manner, very different from her usual soft charming unconsciousness.  She fancied that Edward and Master Buxton were just as little at their ease with each other as she and Miss Harvey.  Perhaps this feeling on the part of the boys made all four children unite after dinner.

“Let us go to the swing in the shrubbery,” said Frank, after a little consideration; and off they ran.  Frank proposed that he and Edward should swing the two little girls; and for a time all went on very well.  But by-and-by Edward thought, that Maggie had had enough, and that he should like a turn; and Maggie, at his first word, got out.

“Don’t you like swinging?” asked Erminia.