‘I can’t be mistaken. I was too excited not to hear very clearly; and the moment the words were spoken I knew my poor dear’s fiery temper would never endure that. And it didn’t; it blazed out in a second, but it didn’t last long, for before I could get to the tent she had stopped herself right in the middle of a sentence; and in another minute I heard your voice, and crept back to the hammock, thinking that everything would be settled by Laura’s going away. I’d no idea that she would pounce on Polly and get her in disgrace, the very last thing, when she knew that she was responsible for the whole matter. You see, auntie, that, impolite as Polly was, she only told Laura that we girls were glad she was going. She didn’t bring you in, after all; and Laura knew perfectly well that she was a welcome visitor, and we all treated her with the greatest politeness, though it’s no use to say we liked her much.’ ‘I am very sorry for the whole affair,’ sighed Mrs. Winship, ‘there is so much wrong on both sides. Laura’s remark, it is true, would have angered almost anybody who was not old and wise enough to see that it deserved only contempt; but both the girls should have had too much respect for themselves and for me to descend to such an unladylike quarrel. However, I am only too glad to hear anything which makes Polly’s fault less, for I love her too dearly not to suffer when I have to be severe with her.’ ‘She wouldn’t ask you to overlook her fault,’ continued Elsie, with tears in her eyes. ‘I know just how wretched and penitent she must be—Polly is always so fierce against her own faults—but what must be making her suffer most is the thought that she has entirely lost your confidence and good opinion. Oh, I can’t help thinking that God feels sorrier this very minute for Polly, who fights and fights against her temper, like a dear sunbeam trying to shine again and again when a cloud keeps covering it up, than He does for Laura, who has everything made smooth for her, and who is unhappy when her feathers are ruffled the least bit.’ ‘You are right, dear, in so far that a fiery little soul like Polly’s can, if it finds the right channels, do God’s work in the world better than a character like Laura’s, which is not courageous, nor strong, nor sweet enough for great service, unless it grows into better things through bitter or rich experiences. Now, good-night, my blessed little peacemaker; sleep sweetly, for I am going into Polly’s tent to have a good talk with her.’ As Mrs. Winship dropped the curtains of Elsie’s tent behind her, and made her way quietly through the trees, the tinkling sound of a banjo fell upon the still night air; and presently, as she neared Polly’s retreat, this facetious serenade, sung by Jack’s well-known voice, was wafted to her ears: