CHAPTER VI.
A drooping daisy changed into a cup, In which her bright-eyed beauty is shut up.
WORDSWORTH.
"So there you are up for the day--really you look very comfortable," said Ethel, coming into the room where Margaret lay on her bed, half-raised by pillows, supported by a wooden frame.
"Yes, is not it a charming contrivance of Richard's?
It quite gives me the use of my hands," said Margaret.
"I think he is doing something else for you," said Ethel; "I heard him carpentering at six o'clock this morning, but I suppose it is to be a secret." "And don't you admire her night-cap ?" said Flora.
"Is it anything different ?" said Ethel, peering closer.

"Oh, I see--so she has a fine day night-cap.

Is that your taste, Flora ?" "Partly," said Margaret, "and partly my own.

I put in all these little white puffs, and I hope you think they do me credit.

Wasn't it grand of me ?" "She only despises you for them," said Flora.
"I'm very glad you could," said Ethel, gravely; "but do you know?
it is rather like that horrid old lady in some book, who had a paralytic stroke, and the first thing she did that showed she had come to her senses was to write, 'Rose-coloured curtains for the doctors.'" "Well, it was for the doctor," said Margaret, "and it had its effect.