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94 Are you going to take your mother up, my trio?” asked Mrs. Garden.

Mary, Jane, and Florimel eagerly crowded around her to escort her upstairs. Mary, remembering that Anne loved her no less, and knew her far better, than her own children, turned back and invited Anne to come, too, with her outstretched hand.

“What a pity I’m not a triangle!” said Mrs. Garden, as her three girls tried to find a place next to her simultaneously. “And my room! Quite unchanged! That’s never the same paper, Anne? Yet I’m sure it is! How extraordinary!”

“We tried to match it, mother; Anne had kept a piece of the old paper,” Jane explained. “Do you think you will like it?”

“I think I shall like you!” cried Mrs. Garden, taking the face of each of her girls in turn between her cool palms and kissing their foreheads.

Jane dashed away and, when Mary and Florimel followed her more slowly, they found her tempestuously crying for joy among the pillows on her bed, her small feet waving emotionally. She sat up when her sisters entered.

“She’s so pretty, and has such ways, and we’re not orphans any longer!” she gasped.