After the ceremony, the children were brought forward, and presented to their new mother.  The youngest, as if strongly drawn by invisible chords of affection, sprung into her lap, and clasped his little arms lovingly about her neck.  He seemed very happy.  The others were cold and distant, while Mary fixed her eyes upon the wife of her father, with a look so full of dislike and rebellion, that no one present was in any doubt as to how she regarded the new order of things.

Mr. Arnold was a good deal fretted by this unexpected conduct on the part of Mary; and, forgetful of the occasion and its claims, spoke to her with some sternness.  He was recalled to self-possession by the smile of his wife, and her gently-uttered remark, that reached only his own ear: 

“Don’t seem to notice it.  Let it be my task to overcome prejudices.”

During the evening Mary did not soften in the least toward her step-mother.  On the next morning, when all met, for the first time, at the breakfast table, the children gazed askance at the calm, dignified woman who presided at the table, and seemed ill at ease.  On Mary’s lip, and in her eye, was an expression so like contempt, that it was with difficulty her father could refrain from ordering her to her own room.

The meal passed in some embarrassment.  At its conclusion, Mr. Arnold went into the parlour, and his wife, entering at once upon her duties, accompanied the children to the nursery, to see for herself that the two oldest were properly dressed for school.  Mary, who had preceded the rest, was already in contention with the housekeeper.  Just as Mrs. Arnold—­so we must now call her—­entered the room, Mary exclaimed, sharply: 

“I don’t care what you say, I’m going to wear this bonnet!”

“What’s the trouble?” inquired Mrs. Arnold, calmly.

“Why, you see, ma’am,” replied the housekeeper, “Mary is bent on wearing her new, pink bonnet to school, and I tell her she mustn’t do it.  Her old one is good enough.”

“Let me see the old one,” said Mrs. Arnold.  She spoke in a very pleasant tone of voice.

A neat, straw bonnet, with plain, unsoiled trimming, was brought forth by the housekeeper, who remarked: 

“It’s good enough to wear Sundays, for that matter.”

“I don’t care if it is, I’m not going to wear it today.  So don’t bother yourself any more about it.”

“Oh, yes, Mary, you will,” said Mrs. Arnold, very kindly, yet firmly.

“No, I won’t!” was the quick, resolute answer.  And she gazed, unflinchingly, into the face of her step-mother.

“I’ll call your father, my young lady!  This is beyond all endurance!” said the housekeeper, starting for the door.

“Hannah!” The mild, even voice of Mrs. Arnold checked the excited housekeeper.  “Don’t speak of it to her father,—­I’m sure she doesn’t mean what she says.  She’ll think better of it in a moment.”