“Just like Fuzz,” said Bess, as the dog raised his head from his basket, and gave a low, angry growl at the Dominie, who entered the room. “I know it is hard for you, Fred, when things go wrong, to be good-natured, but I want you to try as much as you can. I think you would be better off if you had some regular occupation, something to do with yourself.”
“What is there?” asked the boy hopelessly.
“I am not quite sure; let me think it over. But come, we must have our dinner, and be ready for church.”
As the procession of surpliced boys advanced up the middle aisle, Rob, who always came in with one eye on his cousin’s seat, nearly dropped his book in astonishment, for at her side stood Fred, motionless and rather pale, his great brown eyes turned towards the chancel, his whole air and attitude suggestive of patient, anxious waiting. With a comically expressive glance at Bess, Rob passed on. A few steps back of him, leading the men, Bess noticed a new chorister whose boyish face, under a mass of curly brown hair, was striking from its delicate outlines, and told of a refined, happy nature.
