It appeared that nothing in the habitable universe would give Mr. Merryweather greater pleasure. At half-past six? He would not fail to be on hand; and if there should be noises again, why--let those who made them look to themselves. And, with this, the young man took his leave. The children were very troublesome that day. Margaret could not seem to lay her hand on any one of them. If she called Basil, he was "in the barn, Cousin Margaret, helping Willis with the hay. Of course I'll come, if you want me, but Willis seems to need me a good deal, if you don't mind." When it was time for Susan D.'s sewing, the child came most obediently and affectionately; but her thimble was nowhere to be found, and she had mislaid her spool, and, finally, when everything was found, she had not sat still ten minutes, when she was "_so_ thirsty; and must go and get a glass of water, please, Cousin Margaret!" "Susan," said Margaret, "I want to talk to you, and I cannot seem to get a chance for a word. Sit still now, like a good little girl, and tell me--" "Yes, Cousin Margaret, I couldn't find my thimble first, you see; and then there wasn't any spool, and I left it in my basket yesterday, I'm sure I did, but Merton _will_ take it to teach the kitten tricks with, and then it gets all dirty. Don't you know how horrid a spool is when a kitten has been playing with it? You have to wind off yards and yards, and then the rest is sort of fruzzly, and keeps making knots." "Yes, I know. Susan D., what were you doing last evening?" said Margaret. "Last evening?" repeated the child. "We were in the summer-house, Cousin Margaret. We were playing Scottish Chiefs, don't you know? Merton had to play Lord Soulis, 'cause he drew the short straw; but he got cross, and wouldn't play good a bit." "Wouldn't play _well_, or _nicely_," corrected Margaret. "But after that, Susan dear?" "That took a long time," said the child. It seemed, when she was alone with Margaret, that she could not talk enough; the little pent-up nature was finding most delightful relief and pleasure in unfolding before the sympathy that was always warm, always ready. "You see, when it came to carrying me off (I was Helen Mar, after I'd been Marion and was dead), Merton was just horrid. He said he wouldn't carry me off; he said he wouldn't have me for a gift, and called me Scratchface, and all kinds of names. And of course Lord Soulis wouldn't have talked that way; so Wallace (of course Basil _had_ to be Wallace when he drew the long straw, and he never cheats, though Merton does, whenever he gets a chance)--well, and so, Wallace told him, if he didn't carry me off in two shakes of a cat's tail--" "Susan D.!"