"No matter, sweetheart; if Mahomet brings his work, and sits down by the mountain, that will do as well, will it not?" "I don't know what you mean," said the child, uneasily. "She means to plague you, Esther; she's been scolded this morning, and she's in bad humor," said Grace. "Don't throw stones, Miss Grace," I retorted. "I wasn't sent away from the table, if I was scolded." "Mamma'll never forget your performance last night, the longest day she lives," continued Grace. "I never saw her half so angry before. In fact, from all accounts, you must have got it from all quarters, but what Mr. Rutledge said was the worst." "What did he say, pray?" "_Wouldn't_ you like to know!" she cried, in her teasing, school-girl fashion. "I don't believe you could tell me, if I did." "I could if I wanted to," she exclaimed. "I heard mamma and Josephine talking it over this morning. The door of the dressing-room was open a crack, and I heard every word. Now, honey, _don't_ you wish I'd tell you?" "I don't want to hear half as much as you want to tell me," I returned, trying to be unmoved. "Oh! don't be uneasy on my account," she said. "I haven't the least idea of telling you. Only, I didn't suppose Mr. Rutledge could be so severe, and on 'his little friend,' too!" "That--for Mr. Rutledge!" I exclaimed, with a disdainful snap of my fingers. "I don't care the fraction of a pin for his opinion!" "I'll tell him," cried Grace, with delighted eyes. "Do," I answered; and hiding my burning face on the pillow with Esther, I said: "What shall we do to amuse ourselves this morning, Essie? Shall I tell you a story?" "Yes," said Esther, looking pleased. "Ask her to tell you about the ball last night, and Mr. Victor Viennet," said Grace, as she went out of the door. "No," said the little girl, "I'd rather have her tell me about the little dog Tigre at Rutledge, and how he used to stand outside of her door, and whine to come in. Won't you now?" "Oh, that's tiresome, Essie," I said, "I'll tell you something else." "Then tell me about the boys that stole the chestnuts, and about the lake, and the great trees, and the artemisias and the grapevines in the garden. Tell me, won't you now?" she went on, coaxingly. "You'd rather hear a fairy story, Esther," I said; "or something out of your pretty Christmas book, I am sure." "No," said Esther, "I want to hear about the country, I wish they'd take me to the country," she continued, wearily; then, raising herself on her elbow, and looking at me earnestly, she said, "do you believe they ever will? Do you believe I'll be made to always stay in this nursery, without any flowers or birds, or anything I like? If I should die in it, would I stay in it always, or would they take me out? Tell me, would they?"