"I am not angry, my dear!" said I, which was true, as far as she was concerned, though I confess I was angry enough with my Lord. "I am sorry that you have been naughty, but I am not angry. I think you will try to be good now, and stop sobbing, for that will make you sick and vex your mother, and I am sure you would not wish to do that." She did really try to be quiet, but it was of no use. The sobs would come, in spite of her. At last, however, she grew more composed, and lay still, with her head on my breast. I held her in silence for a little while, my heart aching for the poor thing. Presently she raised her face, all stained with tears, and said, in a quivering voice: "Oh, I am 'so' tired!" "Poor dear!" said I, kissing her. "I will sing to you, and you shall go to sleep, and feel better." "I shall 'never' feel better," said she, pitifully. "I am tired all the time—tired of everything. I shall never be rested, I know. Is it wicked to wish I had never been born—for indeed I cannot help it?" I did not quite know what to say. It seemed to me that in her case, I should wish the same. "And now I have angered my father again," she continued: "and I have hurt you, and all—and oh, Margaret—" and her poor frame quivered with now excitement—"do you think papa will have my dog's neck broken when it comes?" "No, my dear love," I answered her: "not if you are good. Don't disturb yourself about that. I do not think my Lord will let the dog be hurt, unless you are very naughty about it." "But he—he said he would, and he is angry with me, and wont forgive me, nor come and see me. Oh, Margaret, do ask him to forgive me, and not let my poor dog be killed!" "I will, by and by," said I, "but not now." For the truth was I did not believe my Lord would think of the matter again after he had gotten over his fit of temper, which seemed to me quite as bad as Betty's, if not worse. "I will ask him at supper time. I do not think he would like it if I were to go to him at present. Now let me wash your face and make you neat before my Lady comes in." She was very docile now, and I dressed her without any trouble. She was very tired, so I laid her on the bed and sat down by her. "Margaret," said she, presently, "how can I help being angry?" "I don't know that you can help feeling angry," said I, "but I will tell you how I help it sometimes. I just shut my mouth and don't say one word, only I repeat to myself the prayer for charity, and the Lord's prayer: and if I am firm, and don't let myself speak one word, I can generally put down the feeling pretty soon: but if I begin to talk, all is over!" "I didn't suppose you were ever angry," said Lady Betty. "I have naturally a very hasty temper," I answered. "I don't believe yours is any more so." "But you had such a nice home, I should not think that you would ever have had anything to vex you."