For an hour she sat there chatting to the boy, telling him of the scrapes his friends had been in, of the pranks they had played, until she began to see traces of the old merry Fred, as the look of sorrow gave place to a smile, and then to a hearty laugh, while she described Rob’s recent attempts to climb a picket fence too hastily, and his being caught by his shoe and hung head downward, from which position he was ignominiously rescued by a passing Irishman.
In the mean time, Bess was glad that her little friend could not see her expression, as she sat looking at the worn, sad face, and the great vacant eyes, that used to have such bright mischief dancing in them. But she forced herself to talk on, as easily as she could, more than rewarded by the pleasure in Fred’s face, and his tight grip of her hand.
At length a step was heard on the stairs, and Mrs. Allen, daintily dressed and looking provokingly fresh and unruffled, Bess thought, came into the room.
“Why, Bessie, when did you come? How stupid of Mary not to tell me you were here!”
“I told her I came to see Fred, and not to
