“If he has, I shall ask mother to let me have her room for my own.”

Poor Toinette, her cheeks burned and her eyes filled with tears at this.  Didn’t the boys love her a bit then?  Next she grew angry, and longed to box Marc’s ears, only she recollected in time that she was invisible.  What a bad boy he was, she thought.

The smoking porridge reminded her that she was hungry; so brushing away the tears she slipped a spoon off the table and whenever she found the chance, dipped it into the bowl for a mouthful.  The porridge disappeared rapidly.

“I want some more,” said Jeanneton.

“Bless me, how fast you have eaten,” said the mother, turning to the bowl.

This made Toinette laugh, which shook her spoon, and a drop of the hot mixture fell right on the tip of Marie’s nose as she sat with upturned face waiting her turn for a second helping.  Marie gave a little scream.

“What is it?” said the mother.

“Hot water!  Right in my face!” sputtered Marie.

“Water!” cried Marc.  “It’s porridge.”

“You spattered with your spoon.  Eat more carefully, my child,” said the mother, and Toinette laughed again as she heard her.  After all, there was some fun in being invisible.

The morning went by.  Constantly the mother went to the door, and, shading her eyes with her hand, looked out, in hopes of seeing a little figure come down the wood-path, for she thought perhaps the child went to the spring after water, and fell asleep there.  The children played happily, meanwhile.  They were used to doing without Toinette and did not seem to miss her, except that now and then baby Jeanneton said:  “Poor Toinette gone—­not here—­all gone.”

“Well, what if she has?” said Marc at last looking up from the wooden cup he was carving for Marie’s doll.  “We can play all the better.”

Marc was a bold, outspoken boy, who always told his whole mind about things.

“If she were here,” he went on,” she’d only scold and interfere.  Toinette almost always scolds.  I like to have her go away.  It makes it pleasanter.”

“It is rather pleasanter,” admitted Marie, “only I’d like her to be having a nice time somewhere else.”

“Bother about Toinette,” cried Pierre.

“Let’s play ‘My godmother has cabbage to sell.’”

I don’t think Toinette had ever felt so unhappy in her life, as when she stood by unseen, and heard the children say these words.  She had never meant to be unkind to them, but she was quick-tempered, dreamy, wrapped up in herself.  She did not like being interrupted by them, it put her out, and she spoke sharply and was cross.  She had taken it for granted that the others must love her, by a sort of right, and the knowledge that they did not grieved over very much.  Creeping away, she hid herself in the woods.  It was a sparkling day, but the sun did not look so bright as usual.  Cuddled down under a rosebush, Toinette sat sobbing as if her heart would break at the recollection of the speeches she had overheard.