I was miserable because I was out of temper, and Matilda had had the best of the quarrel.

I was miserable--poor little wretch!--because I could not wear my pink silk, now my father was dead.
I put my hands to my eyes, and screaming, "Papa! Papa!" I rushed out into the verandah.
As I ran out, some one ran in; we struck against each other, and Bustle and I rolled over on to the floor.

In a moment more I was in Mr.
Abercrombie's arms, and sobbing out my woes to him.
I am sorry to say that he swore rather loudly when he heard what Matilda had said, and I fancy that he lectured her when I had gone to Ayah, for she came to me presently and begged my pardon.

Of course we were at once as friendly as before.

Many another breach was there between us after that, hastily made and quickly healed.