was different, for mother was part and parcel of their lives.

There were six tall, slim, rather straggling-looking Maybright
girls--all overgrown, and long of limb, and short of frock. Then there
came two podgy boys, greater pickles than the girls, more hopelessly
disreputable, more defiant of all authority, except mother's. Polly was
as bad as her brothers in this respect, but the other five girls were
docility itself compared to these black lambs, whose proper names were
Charley and John, but who never had been called anything, and never
would be called anything in that select circle, but Bunny and Bob.

This was the family; the more refined neighbors rather dreaded them, and
even the villagers spoke of most of them as "wondrous rampageous!" But
Mrs. Maybright always smiled when unfriendly comments reached her ears.

"Wait and see," she would say; "just quietly wait and see--they are
all, every one of them, the sweetest and most healthy-minded children in
the world. Let them alone, and don't interfere with them. I should not
like perfection, it would have nothing to grow to."

Mrs. Maybright taught the girls herself, and the boys had a rather
frightened-looking nursery-governess, who often was seen to rush from
the school-room dissolved in tears; but was generally overtaken half-way
up the avenue by two small figures, nearly throttled by two pairs of
repentant little arms, while eager lips vowed, declared, and
vociferated, that they would never, never be naughty again--that they
would never tease their own sweet, sweetest of Miss Wilsons any more.

Nor did they--until the next time.