"Besides she bears the best of reputations, and I don't see what possible harm can come of her being here." Margaret sighed, for though she knew full well the "possible harm" which might come of it, she could not tell it to her pale, dying mother; and ere she had time for any answer, the black bombazine dress, white linen, collar, and white, smooth face of Widow Carter moved silently into the room.

There was a gleam of intense hatred in the dark eyes which for a moment flashed on Margaret's face, and then a soft hand gently stroked the glossy hair of the indignant girl, and in the most musical tones imaginable a low voice murmured, "Maggie, dear, you look flushed and wearied.

Are you quite well ?" "Perfectly so," answered Margaret; and then rising, she left the room, but not until she had heard her mother say, "Dear Mrs.Carter, I am so glad you've come!" "Is everybody bewitched," thought Mag, as she repaired to her chamber, "father, mother, Carrie, and all?
How I wish Walter was here.

He always sees things as I do." Margaret Hamilton was a high-spirited, intelligent girl, about nineteen years of age.

She was not beautiful, but had you asked for the finest-looking girl in all Glenwood, Mag would surely have been pointed out.