“I met Tarquinius in the entry as I came in the house, and inquiring for you the first one, he told me you were here—then I ran in, upset Father Withers in my haste, kissed Sophie, and breaking away ran up here to find you. But where is Rosalia? I expected to find her with you?” “Rosalia is in old Cumbo’s lap warming herself before the kitchen fire, and eating biscuits—and I—am I not always alone—when storms and floods drive me to the house; but _they_,” added she, “shall not send me in again; the wild beasts bear their raging, and so will I.” “Why don’t you stay in the parlor?” “In the parlor?” laughed the girl, bitterly; “Mr. Withers’s mastiffs and bulldogs stay in the parlor, the old tabby cat reposes on the rug before the parlor fire, and Aunt Sophie’s pet rabbit has its cushion in the corner, but I, I am a parlor ornament, ain’t I?” “Oh! Hagar, don’t do so! it is so very ugly in a little girl to act that way, laughing and jibing and jeering with so much scorn and bitterness. Now tell me why you are banished from the parlor, if you _are_ banished.” “Look at me! this is the best suit of clothes I have in the world; do you think Mr. Withers is going to let me stay in the parlor looking like _this_, strict as _he_ is?” Gusty glanced down at her torn and rusty calico dress—and at her, and at her little feet protruding through her old stockings and shoes. Then he said seriously, as he looked at her, “Lord, Hagar, I don’t know now how I shall take you in that trim. But why, child, did you not stay at the kitchen fire with Rose? That would have been far more comfortable than this wet, cold garret.” “I was driven from the kitchen, Gusty—driven from the kitchen because I paid Tarquin well for hurting Rosalia—and only think, Gusty, _just_ think, Rosalia, who should have stuck to me, remained with the old woman who drove me off for protecting _her_,” and the girl turned her eyes flashing with scorn and bitterness towards the boy, who remarked— “Rose did that, Hagar? It was not like Rose to do that. I shall not love Rose if she becomes mean and selfish; but it can’t be so; something remains to be explained.” “Oh, yes,” laughed the wild child, “something remains to be explained—she was hungry and cold—and Cumbo offered to feed and warm her.” How unusual and how frightful is a sneer on a child’s countenance, and oh! what a tale of perverted nature it tells! After a while her countenance relapsed into its serious cast, and she said, “Since you left, Gusty, I have been quite alone; everybody has fallen away from me and gone to Rosalia. Every one dislikes or forgets me, and every one loves Rosalia.” “I have not fallen away from you, Hagar.” “No dear Gusty, _you_ have not—perhaps you _will_, though, when you see more of Rose—” added she, sadly and doubtingly.