ashamed of her for being so selfish as to cry for herself when all
were in so much trouble about papa.

Lady Merrifield caught some of the last words. 'No, my dear,' she
said. 'That is not quite just or kind. It is being unhappy that
makes poor Val so ready to cry about her own grievances. Only, Val,
come here, and remember that fretting is not the way to meet such
things. There is a better way, my child, and I think you know what I
mean. Now, to help you through the time in an outer way, suppose you
each set yourself some one thing to improve in while I am away.
Don't tell me what it is, but let me find out when I come home.'
With that she obeyed an urgent summons to speak to the gardener.

'I shall! I shall,' cried little Primrose, 'write a whole copy-book
in single lines! And won't mamma be pleased? What shall you do,
Fergus? and Val? and Mysie?'

'I shall get to spin my peg-top so as it will never tumble down, and
will turn an engine for drawing water,' was the prompt answer of
Fergus.

'What nonsense!' said Val; 'you'd better settle to get your long
division sums right.'

'That s girls' stuff,' replied Fergus; 'you'd better settle to leave
off crying for nothing.'

'That you had!' said several voices, and Val very nearly cried again
as she exclaimed: 'Don't be all so tiresome. I shall make mamma a
beautiful crewel cushion, with all the battles in history on it. And