"I will run up stairs and put off my things," she said, moving away.
"Did you bring a trunk?"
"Oh yes; it is at the landing. Will you send for it?"
And Irene went, with quick steps, from the apartment, and ran up to
the chamber she still called her own. On the way she met Margaret.
"Miss Irene!" exclaimed the latter, pausing and lifting her hands in
astonishment. "Why, where did you come from?"
"Just arrived in the boat. Have come to help you get ready for
Christmas."
"Please goodness, how you frightened me!" said the warm-hearted
domestic, who had been in the family ever since Irene was a child,
and was strongly attached to her. "How's Mr. Emerson?"
"Oh, he's well, thank you, Margaret."
"Well now, child, you did set me all into a fluster. I thought maybe
you'd got into one of your tantrums, and come off and left your
husband."
"Why, Margaret!" A crimson flush mantled the face of Irene.
"You must excuse me, child, but just that came into my head,"
replied Margaret. "You're very downright and determined sometimes;
and there isn't anything hardly that you wouldn't do if the spirit
was on you. I'm glad it's all right. Dear me! dear me!"
"Oh, I'm not quite so bad as you all make me out," said Irene,
laughing.
"I don't think you are bad," answered Margaret, in kind deprecation,
yet with a freedom of speech warranted by her years and attachment
to Irene. "But you go off in such strange ways--get so wrong-headed
sometimes--that there's no counting on you."
Then, growing more serious, she added-"The fact is, Miss Irene, you keep me feeling kind of uneasy all the
time. I dreamed about you last night, and maybe that has helped to
put me into a fluster now."
"Dreamed about me!" said Irene, with a degree of interest in her
manner.
"Yes. But don't stand here, Miss Irene; come over to your room."
"What kind of a dream had you, Margaret?" asked the young wife, as
she sat down on the side of the bed where, pillowed in sleep, she
had dreamed so many of girlhood's pleasant dreams.
"I was dreaming all night about you," replied Margaret, looking
sober-faced.
"And you saw me in trouble?"
"Oh dear, yes; in nothing but trouble. I thought once that I saw you
in a great room full of wild beasts. They were chained or in cages;
but you would keep going close up to the bars of the cages, or near
enough for the chained animals to spring upon you. And that wasn't
all. You put the end of your little parasol in between the bars, and
a fierce tiger struck at you with his great cat-like paw, tearing
the flesh from your arm. Then I saw you in a little boat, down on
the river. You had put up a sail, and was going out all alone. I saw
the boat move off from the shore just as plainly as I see you now. I
stood and watched until you were in the middle of the river. Then I
thought Mr. Emerson was standing by me, and that we both saw a great
monster--a whale, or something else--chasing after your boat. Mr.
Emerson was in great distress, and said, 'I told her not to go, but
she is so self-willed.' And then he jumped into a boat and, taking
the oars, went gliding out after you as swiftly as the wind. I never
saw mortal arm make a boat fly as he did that little skiff. And I
saw him strike the monster with his oar just as his huge jaws were
opened to devour you. Dear! dear; but I was frightened, and woke up
all in a tremble."