"Why, the boys are just boys, my dear; nothing in the world but plain boys. Two of 'em instead of four,--thank your stars that you are in this generation instead of the last, my love; and now take this little head off to bed, and don't let another anxious thought come into it. Good night, my child." CHAPTER IX. A NEWCOMER. "If you please, Miss Margaret, the lady would like to speak to you, in her room." "Miss Montfort?" (Elizabeth never would call Miss Sophronia Miss Montfort.) "Yes, Elizabeth, I will be up in a moment; tell her, please." Hastily pinning her collar,--it was near breakfast-time, and she had been longer than usual in dressing,--Margaret ran up to the Blue Room. Miss Sophronia, in curl-papers and a long, yellow wrapper, was standing near the window, apparently rigid with horror. "What is it, Cousin Sophronia? What can I do for you?" "Margaret, I told you,--I warned you. I warned John Montfort. No one can say that I neglected my duty in this respect; my conscience is clear. Now look,--I desire you, look out of that window, and tell me what you think." Margaret looked. At first she saw nothing but the clear glass, and, beyond it, the blue sky and waving trees. But, looking again, she became aware of two objects dangling over the upper part of the pane; a black object, and a white object; two small legs, one bare, the other in stocking and shoe. The legs were swinging back and forth, keeping time to a clear and lively whistle, and now and then one of them gave a little kick, as of pure content. "Do you see?" demanded Miss Sophronia, in tragic tone. "Yes, Cousin Sophronia, I see. I can't think--but I'll run up at once and see what it means, and bring the child down. I--" Margaret waited to say no more, but flew up-stairs, only pausing to cast a hasty glance into Susan D.'s room, the door of which stood open. The room was empty; so, when she reached the top of the stairs, was the nursery. She entered a small room that was used as a storeroom; its one window looked directly on the roof, and this window stood wide open. Running to look out, Margaret saw Susan D., seated astride of a gable, dangling her legs as aforesaid, and apparently enjoying herself immensely. The whistle stopped when she saw her cousin, and the cheerful look gave place to one of sullenness. "Susan, my dear child, what are you doing here?" "Looking for my other stocking," replied the child. "Your stocking?" "Yes. I dropped it out of the window, and I came up here to look for it." "She thought she could see better!" explained Basil, appearing suddenly from behind the chimney. "I--good morning, Cousin Margaret. I slept very well, thank you." "So did I!" chimed in Susan D., with suspicious readiness. "I slept very well. Good morning, Cousin Margaret, thank you!"