"Oh, Margaret, I have such a plan," said Ethel, as she walked about
with little Gertrude; but Tom interrupted.

"Margaret, will you see if I can say my lesson?" and the thumbed
Latin grammar came across her just as Dr. May's door opened, and he
came in exclaiming, "Latin grammar! Margaret, this is really too
much for you. Good-morning, my dears. Ha! Tommy, take your book
away, my boy. You must not inflict that on sister now. There's your
regular master, Richard, in my room, if it is fit for his ears yet.
What, the little one here too?"

"How is your arm, papa?" said Margaret. "Did it keep you awake?"

"Not long--it set me dreaming though, and a very romantic dream it
was, worthy of Ethel herself."

"What was it, papa?"

"Oh, it was an odd thing, joining on strangely enough with one I had
three or four and twenty years ago, when I was a young man, hearing
lectures at Edinburgh, and courting--" he stopped, and felt Margaret's
pulse, asked her a few questions, and talked to the baby. Ethel
longed to hear his dream, but thought he would not like to go on;
however, he did presently.

"The old dream was the night after a picnic on Arthur's Seat with the
Mackenzies; mamma and Aunt Flora were there. 'Twas a regular boy's
dream, a tournament, or something of that nature, where I was victor,
the queen--you know who she was--giving me her token--a Daisy Chain."