"Now, Robina," she said on the present occasion, the moment the little girl entered the house--"_don't_ make so much noise: walk quietly; go up to your room, and _don't_ slam the door; also--_don't_ neglect to put your boots outside on the mat, so that Fanny may take them down in good time to get them cleaned. And, Robina--_don't_ forget to wash your hands and brush your hair, and _don't_ on any account fail to remember that your mother has a bad headache and cannot have noise or excitement in her room." "I am not going to make any noise; and I will try not to be excited," said Robina. "I have been very happy at school, Aunt Felice, and people haven't said such a lot of `_don'ts_' to me. I think it is `don't' makes me so naughty when I am at home." "Well--_don't_ oblige me to say `Don't,'" was Aunt Felicia's remark. Robina ran upstairs. She was never cross at school. Why did she feel irritation the very moment she got home? She had looked forward very much to her holidays. She had all sorts of schemes in her practical little brain for improving and rendering life agreeable to little Violet and little Rose, her two small sisters. She had quite expected that Violet and Rose would be waiting to welcome her. She had pictured them to herself all during the long, hot journey to Wales. Violet was five years old, and a very pretty little girl. Curly Pate had always more or less reminded Robina of Violet. And then there was Rose, who was not yet four years old, and who was a very delicate little child and rather fractious. Rose in some sort of intangible manner recalled Harriet to Robina's memory; for she was lanky, and thin, and had poor little weak legs, and a weak sort of crying voice, and people said that she took after her mother, and would never be specially good for anything. Before she went to school, Robina had much preferred to play with Violet, and had often left Rose more or less out in the cold. But now she resolved to correct all this, and to try to get to understand little Rose, and to add to the happiness of her life. "For if I don't," thought Robina, "she may grow up like Harriet: she may even learn to be deceitful, and that would never do. Oh, I know--I know quite well the person who is better than all the rest of us put together at the school, and that person is Ralph. Who else would have changed Harriet, and made her so that she could even bear to allow me to be Ralph's school-mother, and yet to love little Ralph all the time? I must own that I do not love Harriet even now; but I suppose it is wrong of me; anyhow, I see that there are possibilities of good in her; and I will be very good to little Rose during the fortnight that I am at home because of Harriet."