Margaret wrote to Belle and to Laura about the new light and life that had come to her, though it cost her a great effort to do it. In reply, she received four or five pages from each; Belle wrote in great delight and earnestness, saying, she had never doubted for a moment that she was as safely in the ark as herself. "Isn't it strange, darling," she went on, "that you did not see what I saw so plainly, that your love to me was really love to Christ? There is nothing in me to call forth such passionate devotion, and I knew it, all along; and how I have prayed that you might have the bliss of knowing that your Beloved was yours, and you His." "'Bliss!'" re-echoed Margaret, "bliss is no word. It's _heaven_!" Laura wrote one of her lively, domestic letters, full of "Pug" and "Trot;" and Margaret, while enjoying it, wished she could, for once, get a glimpse into her soul. She was just returning the letter to its envelope, a little chilled, when she perceived a scrap upon the floor that had fallen from it. It contained these words: "And thou maun speak o' me to thy God. And I will speak o' thee." "Ah, _she's_ all right!" was Margaret's joyful thought. "I begin to think she's as good as Belle, only different." A few days later, as she sat at her easel, she suddenly felt herself seized from behind, and squeezed by somebody's arms. "Take care, or you'll get covered with paint," she said, as soon as she could speak, and in a moment more, saw Laura's bright face, and Pug and Trot in the rear. "Where's mamma, you naughty child, you, and what do I care for paint?" "Aunty has gone to the city to see a lady, or on the whole, two ladies, in some hospital." "I'll warrant it. Well, the doctor said the children must have change of air, and so I've brought them home. Pug, put your arms round aunty Mag, and squeeze her till she can't breathe; and Trot, do you do the same!" Margaret held out her arms, and the children sprang in. "How good it is to feel your little arms," she said. "I've just been hungry to see you. And I'm ever so glad to see you, too, Oney." "Of course you are. Where's that good, old soul, Mary? Oh, here she comes! Well, Mary, how are you? We've come to make you lots of trouble. Haven't the children grown?" "Why, yes, Miss, only Miss Laura is small for her age." "So are you, Molly," cried Laura, laughing. Mary laughed, too, and tried, furtively, to slip a bit of cake into the children's hands. "Ah, at your old tricks, I see. Very well, if you undertake to make them ill you'll have to nurse them, that's all, for I am worn out." "You do look completely used up," said Margaret, beginning to scrape her pallette. "What are you doing, child?" "Why, you don't suppose I am going to paint when my pets are here?"