head upon the lap of the proud lady, who very lovingly would smooth
the soft, shining hair, "so much like her own," she said.

"Before you had to color it, you mean, don't you, grandma?" the
mischievous Maggie would rejoin, looking up archly to her grandmother,
who would call her a saucy child, and stroke still more fondly the
silken locks.

Wholly unlike Maggie was Theo, a pale-faced, fair-haired girl, who was
called pretty, when not overshadowed by the queenly presence of her
more gifted sister. And Theo was very proud of this sister, too; proud
of the beautiful Maggie, to whom, though two years her junior, she
looked for counsel, willing always to abide by her judgment; for what
Maggie did must of course be right, and grandma would not scold. So if
at any time Theo was led into error, Maggie stood ready to bear the
blame, which was never very severe, for Mrs. Jeffrey had learned
not to censure her too much, lest by so doing she should incur the
displeasure of her employer, who in turn loved Maggie, if it were
possible, better than the daughter whose name she bore, and whom
Maggie called her mother. Well kept and beautiful was the spot where
that mother lay, and the grave was marked by a costly marble which
gleamed clear and white through the surrounding evergreens. This was
Maggie's favorite resort, and here she often sat in the moonlight,
musing of one who slept there, and who, they said, had held her on her
bosom when she died.

At no great distance from this spot was another grave, where the grass
grew tall and green, and where the headstone, half sunken in the
earth, betokened that she who rested there was of humble origin. Here
Maggie seldom tarried long. The place had no attraction for her, for