"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."