Meanwhile Gladys had seized the beautiful Vera and drawn Ellen off upstairs to their room.  The maid saw the signs of storm in her face, and her own grew troubled, for it was one thing to vex Gladys and quite another to appease her.

“I’m not going to stay here,” announced the little girl, as soon as the door was closed, her breath coming fast.  “Faith and Ernest are the most selfish, impolite children I ever saw!”

Ellen sighed, and, sitting down, drew the child into her lap.

She continued excitedly:  “We went turtle-hunting and found a lot of scrabbly things that I couldn’t bear, but Faith and Ernest like them.  Then when we found a pretty little young one that I wouldn’t be a bit afraid of, Faith kept it for herself.  Just think, when I was company, and she had all the others beside.  I’m just crazy to have it, and they’re very hard to find and we can’t ever find another.  Shouldn’t you think she’d feel ashamed?  Then when, we went out in the boat, just because I moved around a little and made the boat rock, Ernest brought us in when I didn’t want to come a bit.  I even told him I didn’t want to come in, because I wanted to see a part of the pond that looked pretty, but he brought us just the same.  Did you ever hear of such impoliteness?”

Ellen had had too much experience with the little girl not to know that there was another side to this story; but she gathered Gladys down in her arms with the curly head on her shoulder, and, while a few hot tears fell from the brown eyes, she rocked her, and it comforted the little girl’s sore places to feel her nurse’s love.

“I’m glad Ernest brought you in,” said Ellen, after a minute of silent rocking.  “If anything happened to you, you know that would be the last of poor Ellen.  I could never go back to town.”

Gladys gave a sob or two.

“These children haven’t nearly so much as you have,” went on Ellen quietly.  “Perhaps Faith was as happy over the little turtle as you are over your talking doll.  She hasn’t any rich mother to give her things, you know.”

“They have lots of things.  They have a great deal more fun in winter than I do,” returned Gladys hotly.

Ellen patted her.  “You have too much, Gladys,” she replied kindly.  “When I said this morning that you were unlucky, you couldn’t understand it; but perhaps this visit to the farm will make you see differently.  There’s such a thing as having too much, dear, and that sentence on your silver bowl is as true as true.  Now there’s the supper bell.  Let me wash your face.”

Gladys was deeply offended, but she was also hungry, and she began to wonder if there would be apple-butter and cottage cheese again.

There was, and the little girl did full justice to the supper, especially to aunt Martha’s good bread and butter; but when the meal was over she refused to go out and romp on the lawn with her cousins.