20 MADGE’S MISTAKE,

every likelihood of it—for the other day
when I had to take that note from Father to
him, he showed me the whole concern; the
roses I mean, little thinking how Father
would rave if he heard how fine they were;
Father says he’s bent on getting the prize, if
it’s only to spite old Mr. M.”

I grow perfectly cold, and if I did not
know to the contrary, I should say that
some one was standing above me pouring
cold water down my back. I make one
effort to shake this feeling off, however, and
in order to change the conversation I
ask:

“Are you not glad Father is going away?”

Jack stares at me for a minute, and then
says with great contempt, “Are you glad
when the fog clears off? Are you glad when
the winter is over? Are you glad when it
ceases to rain and the sun comes out?
Allow me to tell you that the sun will come
out at eleven o’clock to-morrow morning, for
the first time during these holidays.”

I feel suppressed, sat upon, but wisely say