“Yes! but Edward would like it now.”  And Edward accordingly took her place.  Frank turned away, and would not swing him.  Maggie strove hard to do it, but he was heavy, and the swing bent unevenly.  He scolded her for what she could not help, and at last jumped out so roughly, that the seat hit Maggie’s face, and knocked her down.  When she got up, her lips quivered with pain, but she did not cry; she only looked anxiously at her frock.  There was a great rent across the front breadth.  Then she did shed tears—­tears of fright.  What would her mother say?

Erminia saw her crying.

“Are you hurt?” said she, kindly.  “Oh, how your check is swelled!  What a rude, cross boy your brother is!”

“I did not know he was going to jump out.  I am not crying because I am hurt, but because of this great rent in my nice new frock.  Mamma will be so displeased.”

“Is it a new frock?” asked Erminia.

“It is a new one for me.  Nancy has sat up several nights to make it.  Oh! what shall I do?”

Erminia’s little heart was softened by such excessive poverty.  A best frock made of shabby old silk!  She put her arms round Maggie’s neck, and said: 

“Come with me; we will go to my aunt’s dressing-room, and Dawson will give me some silk, and I’ll help you to mend it.”

“That’s a kind little Minnie,” said Frank.  Ned had turned sulkily away.  I do not think the boys were ever cordial again that day; for, as Frank said to his mother, “Ned might have said he was sorry; but he is a regular tyrant to that little brown mouse of a sister of his.”

Erminia and Maggie went, with their arms round each other’s necks, to Mrs. Buxton’s dressing-room.  The misfortune had made them friends.  Mrs. Buxton lay on the sofa; so fair and white and colorless, in her muslin dressing-gown, that when Maggie first saw the lady lying with her eyes shut, her heart gave a start, for she thought she was dead.  But she opened her large languid eyes, and called them to her, and listened to their story with interest.

“Dawson is at tea.  Look, Minnie, in my work-box; there is some silk there.  Take off your frock, my dear, and bring it here, and let me see how it can be mended.”

“Aunt Buxton,” whispered Erminia, “do let me give her one of my frocks.  This is such an old thing.”

“No, love.  I’ll tell you why afterwards,” answered Mrs. Buxton.

She looked at the rent, and arranged if nicely for the little girls to mend.  Erminia helped Maggie with right good will.  As they sat on the floor, Mrs. Buxton thought what a pretty contrast they made; Erminia, dazzlingly fair, with her golden ringlets, and her pale-blue frock; Maggie’s little round white shoulders peeping out of her petticoat; her brown hair as glossy and smooth as the nuts that it resembled in color; her long black eye-lashes drooping over her clear smooth cheek, which would have given the idea of delicacy, but for the coral lips that spoke of perfect health:  and when she glanced up, she showed long, liquid, dark-gray eyes.  The deep red of the curtain behind, threw out these two little figures well.