IX
KATE
It would take too long to follow Maggie and Bessie through all their travels, or to visit all the places visited by them, going from one to another by easy stages, as best suited mamma; and staying a day or two, or a week or two, according to the amount of interest and pleasure they found in each. Charleston and Richmond, Virginia Springs, the famous Natural Bridge, and many another spot, were described in Maggie’s letters to her friends at home; but the place of which she most delighted to write, because there she found the most to describe, was Washington. Here is one of her letters from that city: —
“My beloved Uncle Horace, – I think Washington is the most interesting city I ever met with. It has so much to see and buildings which are quite surprising and such a credit to themselves and the people who built them that I am proud of the nation to which I belong. But the most interesting place I find is the Pattern Office where are to be seen thousands and thousands of things one can never be tired of looking at. There are jewels and beautiful birds and butterflies, and very nasty bugs and spiders and oh! Uncle Horace an awful spider so large with his legs out he is as big as a dinner plate, I am thankful I do not live in that country, for he bites too and the people die, and I don’t see the use of spiders but I suppose some, or God would not have made them. And there are machines but we children did not care much for those and Indian things very interesting and all kinds of curiosities and beautiful toys. But the most interesting of all General Washington’s furniture and his clothes. But his furniture was very shabby and I think his grateful country ought to make him a present of some better and his coat – why, Uncle Horace it was all ragged and if it was not the father of his country’s I would say it looked like an old beggar man’s. But please do not think I am a traitor because I say this, for I would not be such a thing I hope, nor a Benedict Arnold either, I shan’t call him Mr. for he is not good enough, and I think he was the meanest man that ever lived not to take his own punishment but to let poor Mr. Andre be killed for him. And Bessie and I do think the father of his country might have let Mr. Andre off that once if he would promise never to do so again and we are afraid he forgot that time that Jesus wanted us to forgive one another as He forgave us. Papa says he had to make an example of Mr. Andre but I think he would have been a better example himself if he had showed mercy. And in the Pattern Office are some stufed animals some very pretty and some ugly as is in the nature of animals to be, for we all know they did not make themselves any more than people who are some ugly and some very handsome and they can’t help it. And so I don’t see why they have animals for patterns for no man nor woman either could make an animal but only God, but they are interesting to see though it must be disagreeable to stuff them.
“We saw the President and we are very much disappointed for he looks just like another man, not a bit better, and we did not expect it of him but thought he would be very grand and somehow different. I don’t care a bit if I never see another President. I think it is real mean. But he has a very grand house and he lets people come in and see it which is very kind of him, for I would not like people I did not know to come in my house, and pass remarks about it; but Papa says Presidents and kings and things of that kind have to do a great many things they do not like very much, so I hope I will never be a President or his wife either and if he asks me to marry him I will certainly say no and Bessie will too.
“There are a great many lovely toys in the Pattern Office but I will not say I wish they were mine because I cannot have them so it is of no use and it might be to break the tenth commandment. Papa says they belong to the government, but I don’t see what the government which is nothing but a lot of big men wants of playthings, and I think they would be much more use if children had them to take pleasure in them. If they were mine I would give the largest share to my Bessie, and then divide them with all my children friends and send some to the little cripples’ hospital.
“To-morrow Papa is going to take us to the Smithsonian Institude where they say are a great many curious and wonderful things and lots of animals dead ones I mean from all parts of the world. Which must be very instructif and if I do not improve my advantages I ought to be ashamed of myself and deserve to be a dunce. Mamma says it is time for us to go to bed, which I wish it was not and I wish there was no such place as bed but I do not tell dear Mamma so or she might think I did not honor her and I hope I may never be such an unnatural child. So good night dear Uncle Horace and Aunt May and May Bessie the same from your devoted till death do us part friend
“Maggie.”
They did not stay long in Washington; for the weather was growing warm and oppressive, and our party were anxious to hurry northward, where it was cooler and pleasanter. We will not stop with them at Baltimore or Philadelphia, where nothing particularly interesting occurred; or even in their own city, where they stopped for a few days to rest and have a sight of all the dear home-faces, as well as to leave all the “curiosities and wonderful memories,” as Maggie called them, which they had collected in their southern rambles: but start off with them once more on their further journeyings.
They had parted from Mr. Powers and Belle: but Uncle Ruthven and Aunt Bessie had joined the party, adding much to the enjoyment of all; and they were now on their way to beautiful Trenton and Niagara Falls.
A young lady and two gentlemen were coming up the brass-covered staircase of the steamboat which was carrying our friends up the river.
“Hallo!” said one of the latter as some small object fell at his feet. “What is this? Who is pelting me with flowers? No: it’s not a flower either. What is it, Mary?” and he stooped and picked it up, turning it round and round very gingerly, as if afraid it would fall to pieces in his fingers. “Looks like a small edition of that thing on your head.”
“Just what it is,” replied his sister. “It is a doll’s hat. Ah! there is the little owner, I suppose,” and she looked up at Bessie who was peeping over the banisters with watchful, earnest eyes, and holding Margaret Colonel Horace in her arms.
“Are you the young lady who has been pelting me with dolls’ hats, and trying to make me think they were flowers?” asked the young man as he came to the top of the stairs.
“It is only one hat, and I didn’t try to make you think it was a flower, and I didn’t pelt you with it, and I’m only a little girl,” answered Bessie, demurely. “It fell off my dolly’s head; but I’m very glad you came up just then, before any one stepped on it.”
The gentleman put the hat on the forefinger of one hand, and twirled it slowly round with the other, while Bessie looked on, rather aggravated.
“Give it to her, George; aren’t you ashamed to tease her?” said the young lady.
“What will you give me for it?” asked he.
“I’ll give you ‘thank you,’ sir,” replied the child.
“Nothing else?”
“No, sir, nothing else,” answered Bessie, with as much dignity as any young lady could have worn.
He felt the silent reproof of the child’s manner; and, ashamed of having teased her, he handed her the little hat, saying, almost without intending it, —
“I beg your pardon.”
“I am very much obliged to you, sir,” she said, now smiling again. “I was ’fraid it would be spoiled ’fore I could call some one to pick it up.”
“Why didn’t you run down, and pick it up yourself?” asked the young lady.
“I thought maybe mamma wouldn’t want me to,” said Bessie, putting on her doll’s hat. “She told me on the Savannah steamer never to go up and down the stairs alone; and I didn’t know if she would like me to here.”
“Here’s a match for Kate’s paragon of obedience and straightforwardness,” said the young lady, laughing as she turned to the other gentleman who had not yet spoken.
“What is your name, little lady?” he asked.
Bessie looked up at him. Where had she seen that face before? Those sparkling black eyes, the roguish curve of the lips, seemed very familiar to her; and yet she was sure the gentleman was a stranger, as the others were.
But she had a fancy that these same strangers were making rather free with her; and she put on her dignified air again as she answered slowly, —
“Bessie Bradford, sir,” and turned away. But her steps were again checked as she heard her last questioner exclaim, —
“Why, it is Kate’s pet! The paragon herself!”
“Kate’s pet!” The old school-name so often given to her by the older girls at Miss Ashton’s, and now uttered by the owner of the black eyes which seemed so familiar, made it at once clear to her who it was. Perhaps it was just as well that she did not know what paragon meant: she only thought it rather an ugly-sounding name, and at another time she might have been displeased and thought it was intended to tease her; but, as it flashed upon her who he was, vexation was lost in pleased surprise.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, in the tone she sometimes used when she was both gratified and astonished, and looking up at him with flushed and sparkling face.
“Well?” said the gentleman, laughing; as did both of his companions.
“I just believe you are Katie’s brother,” cried the child.
“That is an accusation I cannot deny,” he said, much amused. “Yes; I am Charlie Maynard. But how did you know that?”
“’Cause you look a great deal like her, sir,” answered Bessie; “and she used to talk about you very often. She thinks you are very nice.”
“That shows her good taste,” he said.
“She is very, very nice herself,” said the little girl, no longer feeling as if she were talking to a stranger; “and I am very fond of her. But it is a great while since I have seen her. Will you please to give her my love when you see her, sir?”
“On one condition,” he answered; “that you come with me now and let me show you something. Something I think you will like to see,” he added, seeing that she hesitated.
“I must ask mamma first,” she said. “She only gave me leave to wait here until Uncle Ruthven and Maggie came up.”
She ran to where her mother sat, and eagerly asked if she might go with Katie Maynard’s brother to “see something.” Mamma gave permission; and, putting her hand confidingly in that of her new acquaintance, Bessie suffered him to lead her to the other side of the boat.
Like what he had brought her to see! Bessie thought so indeed, when she caught sight of the “something;” and Margaret Colonel Horace nearly fell from her mamma’s arms as the latter sprang into those of Katie Maynard herself.
Kate was as much delighted and surprised as the child, and kissed Bessie over and over again; while the loving little soul nestled close to her, and looked up with eyes which left no need for words.
Then Bessie had to be introduced to Katie’s father and mother, who were with her; but her brother said there was no occasion for him to go through with this ceremony, since he and Bessie had already made acquaintance; and he took a good deal of credit to himself for having guessed that the demure little damsel, who was so careful about obeying her mamma, might be his sister’s favorite and pet, whose name he had so often heard. The other lady and gentleman were friends of the Maynards, and travelling with them; and the whole party were, like our friends, bound for Niagara.
“And where is the honey-bee?” asked Kate, who had heard Colonel Rush call Maggie by that name, and from that time used it for her. “We’ll go and bring her too.”
But Maggie, – who had by this time come upstairs, having chosen to go down with Uncle Ruthven to buy some papers and “see what she could see” below, while Bessie preferred to wait above, – Maggie was by no means to be persuaded to join a party consisting of so many strangers. So Kate, who was really rejoiced to see her little schoolmates, and wanted to talk to both, must needs accept Bessie’s invitation, and stay with them for a while.
“For you know you’re not a bit troubled with bashfulness,” said Bessie, innocently; “and poor Maggie is;” a speech which made Kate’s friends smile, and Kate herself laugh outright.
But Bessie was mistaken; for Kate, in spite of her laugh, was for once “a bit troubled with bashfulness” before Mrs. Bradford. For she had a little feeling of consciousness in the presence of Bessie’s mother, which rose from the recollection of the affair of the clock at school, and the knowledge that Mrs. Bradford had heard of it. Mrs. Ashton had told Kate that she had thought it only right to tell Mrs. Bradford of Bessie’s trial, and her steadfast resistance to temptation; and Kate, who had not seen Mrs. Bradford since the day of the giving of the prizes, felt a little doubtful how she would be received. But the lady’s kind and friendly greeting soon put the young girl at her ease, and she felt there was no need for any feeling of embarrassment now that her own conscience was at rest. She had a pleasant talk with the little girls, hearing of their travels and adventures, and telling them in return of all that had taken place at school after they left.
The acquaintance between the young folks brought about one between their elders, which gave much pleasure all around; and, during the next two or three weeks, the two parties saw a good deal of one another.
The children took a great fancy to the younger Mr. Maynard, Kate’s brother, as he did to them; and even Maggie was quite friendly with him from the time that he came and took his place near his sister, as she sat a little apart with Bessie on her lap, and Maggie close beside her, talking of all that had happened since they parted. He was very much amused with Bessie’s quaint ways and sayings, and with Maggie’s glowing descriptions of all they had seen and done during their travels; but he did not let his amusement appear, and they talked away without restraint before him. Now and then he would join in the conversation, putting a question, or making a remark, as though he were interested in what they were saying, but not so as to embarrass them at all; and he was so kind and pleasant in his manner to them, that they both speedily honored him with their “approval,” and a place in the ranks of their friends.
Not so with Mr. Temple, Charlie Maynard’s companion. When, after a time, he sauntered up and joined the group, he soon put a check upon the merry chatter of the little girls. Not intentionally, for he had more to say to them, and asked more questions than Mr. Maynard himself: but it was done with a tone and manner which they did not like; in a half-mocking way, which irritated Bessie, and brought on a fit of shyness with Maggie. Indeed, the latter would not stand it long, but moved away to her mamma.
“What is it, dear?” asked her mother, seeing that something had disturbed her.
“That hateful man, mamma,” said Maggie, lowering her voice that she might not be heard by the object of her displeasure.
“Do not call names, dear,” said her mother. “What has he done to you?”
“He talks disagreeable nonsense, mamma.”
“I thought you liked nonsense once in a while,” said Mr. Stanton.
“Oh! it’s not nice, amusing nonsense like yours, Uncle Ruthven. He talks compliments, and compliments he don’t mean either. He is horrid, and very silly, too.”
“Perhaps he thinks you like it,” said Mr. Stanton.
“He has no business to think so,” said Maggie, waxing more indignant. “We were having a very nice time with Miss Kate, and he made himself a great interruption. He teased us about our dolls; and then he asked us a great many ridiculous questions, and talked a great many foolish things about Bessie’s eyes and my hair. If it was grown ladies he talked to that way they would say he was impertinent, and I don’t see what children have to stand it for. It is horrid nonsense.”
Mamma thought it horrid nonsense too. She did not like to have such things said to her little girls, and was glad that they were too wise to be pleased with such foolish flattery, which might otherwise have made them vain.
Meanwhile, Mr. Temple was continuing his “horrid nonsense” to Bessie, in spite of more than one reproof from Kate and her brother; but the little “princess” received it in the most disdainful silence, which greatly amused not only the two last, but also the offender himself. But at last it became more than Bessie could bear, and she too slipped from Kate’s hold and went back to her mother. From this time, the children avoided Mr. Temple as much as possible; and, if they could help it, would not join the Maynards when he was with them.
“What is the reason you don’t like George Temple?” asked Kate of Bessie one day.
“I don’t know,” said Bessie, coloring: for she did not know she had made her dislike so plain; and she really found it difficult to put in words the cause of her annoyance. “I don’t know, Miss Kate; but I don’t like him. I believe I don’t approve of young men,” she added doubtfully, as if she were not quite sure of the latter fact.
“But you like Charlie, don’t you?” said Kate, smiling, “and he is a young man, younger than Mr. Temple.”
“Yes,” answered Bessie, with an air of deep reflection, “but – then – I b’lieve the reason is, that Mr. Temple is not so very gentleman as Mr. Maynard. Your brother plays with us, and makes fun for us, but he is just as polite as if we were big ladies; but I think Mr. Temple is one of those people who seem to think children don’t have feelings. You know there is such a kind of people, Miss Kate.”
“She knows the ring of the pure metal,” said Kate afterwards to her mother, “and distinguishes the true gentleman in heart and feeling, as well, or better than her elders. She did not mean her words for me, I am sure; but I could not but remember that it is not so long since I was myself one of that “kind of people who seem to think children don’t have feelings”;” and Kate laughed at the recollection of Bessie’s solemn air, when she had pronounced her opinion of Mr. Temple. “Poor Maggie! how I used to tease her.”
“Yes, indeed, Kate,” said Mrs. Maynard, “grown people, I fear, too often forget how easily a child’s feelings are wounded; how the word, the look, or laugh, which to us is a matter of indifference, or some passing moment’s amusement, may mortify and grieve some sensitive little heart, and leave there a sore spot long after we have forgotten it.”
“Yes,” said Kate, regretfully, “my conscience is not at ease on that point. And you may thank darling Bessie, mother, for giving me more than one innocent lesson in consideration and thoughtfulness for others, both old and young. The honey-bee, too, with all her heedlessness, – and she is naturally a careless little thing, – leaves no sting behind her, for she never forgets the rule which she calls, ‘doing unto others.’”
X
MAGGIE’S POEM
“Isn’t it a nice day, Maggie?” said Bessie, coming to her sister, who was leaning with both arms on the railing which guarded the upper-deck, watching the flashing water, the magnificent mountains, the blue sky, and all the other beauties around and above her.
“Yes,” answered Maggie; “and we’re having such a nice sail, except for that man. Bessie, my head is quite full of poetry about it.”
“Write some then,” said Bessie; “and we’ll send it to my soldier. He’ll be so pleased. I’ll ask papa for a pencil and some paper;” and she made her request to her father, who let her take his memorandum-book for the purpose; and, furnished with this and excited by all the beauty around, Maggie broke forth into the following verses, the first of which was thought remarkably fine by Bessie and herself, as being not only extremely poetical, but also as containing a great deal of religious sentiment very touchingly expressed: —
“POEM ON A STEAMBOAT SAIL
“I have so very many mercies,
I have to write them down in verses;
Because my heart in praise goes up
For such a full and heaped-up cup.
“But, ah! ’tis my unhappy fate
To see on board a man I hate:
I know I should not be so mad;
But he behaves so very bad.”
“‘Hate’ there only means ‘can’t bear,’” said Maggie, when she had finished this last verse and read it aloud to her sister: “but you see ‘can’t bear’ don’t rhyme very well with ‘fate;’ and I want to put that, it is such a very poetical word, and sounds so very grown-up-y. I had to put that verse about Mr. Temple for a relief to my feelings; and ‘hate’ must be excused.”
“That first verse is lovely,” said Bessie. “It sounds so very nice; and, besides, it is so pious.”
“Yes,” said Maggie. “I thought I’d better begin with a little religion and gratitude. Besides, it was that made the poetry come into my ideas, Bessie. I was thinking how very good and grateful we ought to be, when God gives us such a very beautiful world to look at, and travel about in.”
“Yes,” said Bessie, putting her head on one side and giving her sister a look which expressed as much admiration and affection as a look could do, “yes: what a very smart, nice girl you are, Maggie!”
“You think so,” said Maggie; “but everybody don’t.”
“That’s they don’t know any better,” said Bessie, whose praise might have spoiled Maggie, if the latter had been at all vain and conceited.
“The second verse isn’t very pious,” said Maggie, looking at it doubtfully; “but I guess I’ll leave it in.”
“And you can explain it to Uncle Horace when you write to him,” said Bessie. “But make some more, Maggie: your poetry is splendid.”
Thus encouraged, Maggie went on, —
“I look upon the blue, blue sky,
That spreads above us there on high:
Below, the water sparkles bright,
And all around the land is light.
“The sun is shining, too, above,
And whispers to us, ‘God is love!’
The moon, also, will shine to-night,
And pretty stars will twinkle bright.”
“Oh, what lovely description you do make!” exclaimed Bessie, when Maggie read these two verses.
“This world is all so beautiful,
We should be very grateful;
But then, you know, sometimes we’re not,
And do forget our happy lot.”
“We’ll have to read gra-te-ful to make it come right with beautiful,” said Maggie, “but it sounds good enough.”
“Oh! it’s perfectly lovely,” said Bessie.
“Our father and our mother dear,
Each sitting in a steamboat chair;
Aunt Bessie too, the darling dear,
And Uncle Ruthven sitting near.
“Oh! it doth make my heart rejoice
To hear each loved and pleasant voice;
And then I have my sisters sweet,
Who with kind smiles me always greet.”
“What does ‘greet’ mean?” asked Bessie.
“It means something like welcome,” answered Maggie. “I can’t explain exactly; but I know it is a word poetry-writers use a great deal, and I thought I had better put it in.”
Maggie wrote on, —
“And then I’ve lots of friends at home,
From whom just now away I roam;
I trust they’ll all be safe and sound
When I again at home am found.”
“That is enough for to-day,” said Maggie “but I am going to make a long poem out of it, and I’ll do some more another time. I s’pose Niagara will be a good thing to put in it. You know they say it is splendid.”
“What is ‘roam’?” asked Bessie, who must always inquire the meaning of every word she did not understand.
“To travel about. Just what we’re doing,” answered Maggie.
“Then why don’t you say travel? I think it’s the nicest word.”
“But it is not so uncommon,” said Maggie; “and you know when people write poetry they always put in all the uncommon words they can find.”
“Do they?” said Bessie, as if she did not quite approve of this rule.
“Yes, to be sure,” answered Maggie. “You know prose is just common talking; but poetry is uncommon talking, and you have to make it sound as fine as you can, and put words you don’t use every day.”
“Oh!” said Bessie. “Well, if you have done, I guess we’d better give papa back his book.”
Accordingly, the book was carried to papa, who had not had any idea that Maggie’s poetical fancy would carry her so far, and who was rather surprised to see several pages scribbled over with verses that were lined and interlined, scratched out and written over, in a manner which did not add to the beauty or neatness of the book.
However, he only laughed, and taking out his penknife carefully cut out the scribbled leaves and gave them to the little poetess, who rolled them up, and tying them round with a bit of twine, stowed them away in her satchel, till such time as she should be ready to copy and add to them.
But she did not find leisure for this till they had been at Niagara for two or three days; and then, when she looked in her travelling-bag for the precious poem, lo! it was gone! In vain did she and Bessie take out all the other contents from the satchel, shake it, and feel in each corner and pocket: no poem came to light, and great was the sorrowing over its loss.
“Then I s’pose I’ll never hear of it again,” said Bessie, regretfully, when mamma said she thought Maggie must have pulled it out with some of the other things her bag contained, and so dropped it, unseen.
But poor Maggie was to hear of her poem again; to hear a little too much of it.
The two parties spent a week or more at Niagara Falls, visiting many a point of interest and beauty, – sometimes together, sometimes apart; now standing below the level of the Rapids, and looking backward at their white foaming crests drawn sharply against the blue sky, as the mad waters went whirling and rushing over the slope; now, in the early morning, looking up to the top of the Great Fall, which shone and flashed like jewels in the rays of the sun, the gray mist curling below, and a glorious rainbow stretching from shore to shore; now taking the little steamer which plies to the foot of the cataract, into the very midst of the thick, blinding spray. Mamma did not think it best for Bessie to go on this expedition; but strong, hardy, little Maggie was allowed to go, well wrapped in water-proof, and held fast in papa’s or Uncle Ruthven’s arms. On the whole, however, Maggie did not enjoy this as much as she did the other excursions. In the first place, Bessie was not with her, and then she wanted to laugh at the droll, miserable-looking figures about her, but would not do so, lest she should “hurt their feelings, when they looked so very unhappy, and as if they wished they had not come.”
Then again they would pass over to some of the lovely little islands, which here and there break the rapids above the American Fall. Two of them, Ship and Brig Islands, had a special interest for the children, from their resemblance to ships under full sail. Even Bessie, who could never be persuaded to imagine any thing which she did not distinctly see, noticed this, and said she felt almost sorry for them, for it seemed as if they were “real live ships trying to sail out of the waters that were hurrying them away so fast.”
Mr. Bradford and Mr. Stanton had gone over to Goat Island one afternoon, taking the little girls with them. Here they were lying and sitting under the overarching trees, looking at the Hermit’s Cascade, and listening to the deep, never-ceasing voice of the great cataract, when they were joined by the younger portion of the Maynard party, – Kate and her brother, and Mr. and Miss Temple.
Maggie and Bessie had by this time taken Mr. Charlie Maynard into special favor, looking upon him with eyes nearly as friendly as those with which they regarded his sister; and they were glad to see both him and Kate. Miss Temple, too, a quiet, lady-like girl, they liked very well, and did not object to her; but they could very well have dispensed with her brother’s society. However, he did not on this occasion seem at first disposed to prove teasing or troublesome, but stretched himself upon the grass, with his head supported on his arm and his hat half over his eyes.
But, by and by, Mr. Bradford and Mr. Stanton, seeing an old friend at a little distance, went to speak to him; the former telling his little girls to remain where they were till he returned. They were scarcely out of hearing, when George Temple, turning lazily over so as to face Maggie, though he still kept his eyes shaded by his hat, said, —
“This is delightful! One could dream half one’s life away in this enchanting place and in such pleasant company. Have we not a poet or poetess among us to put it all into verse? What! no answer to the call? Then I shall have to try my hand at it.”
“You making verses!” said his sister, laughing, and playfully pulling the brown locks which escaped from beneath his hat. “You making verses! a lame style of poetry that would be, to be sure.”
“I don’t know,” said George. “Certainly I never appeared to have much talent that way; but no one can tell what he may be able to do when a fitting time arrives. I feel on the present occasion like the gifted authoress who says so touchingly, —
‘I have so very many mercies
I have to write them down in verses.’”
Maggie started, and looked up from the little bunch of wild flowers she was arranging to carry home to her mother.
Mr. Maynard and the young ladies laughed; and Charlie said, —
“What a gem! Who is your authoress?”
“She is Anon., I believe,” said George, sleepily. “She closes the couplet with, —
‘Because my heart in praise goes up
For such a full and heaped-up cup.’
Now I am in just such a frame of mind, and quite agree with her when she goes on to say, —
‘This world is all so beautiful,
We should be very gra-te-ful;
But then, you know, sometimes we’re not,
And do forget our happy lot.’”
“George,” said Miss Temple, “how can you be so foolish?” but she laughed again, and the others, too, went on laughing and joking him about his “nonsense;” while poor Maggie sat, – with downcast-eyes, changing color, and beating heart, – listening intently to every word her tormentor uttered, and wondering how much more pain he would put her through. As for Bessie, she had at first heard in wondering surprise those strangely familiar lines; but surprise soon changed to sympathy for her Maggie, and indignation against Mr. Temple.