with him always—always—to mind him and comfort him.
The woman was aghast at her rage.
"But your pretty cousins. Think of the games you can have with them."
"I won't go!" the child cried. "I will stay with Father."
She ran downstairs and opened the door of his room. He was sitting at the fire with a long tress of hair upon his hand. He was smoothing it upon his fingers and curling it around them. She thought she heard him sob. She ran to him and put her arms around his neck. He drew himself away and hastily put the lock of hair into his pocket-book.
With the strange wisdom of a child, she knew she was not to ask what he had been doing. She saw that his eyes were dry, and laughed. What made her think he was crying? Grown-up people never cry. She laughed again.
"I am not going away—never," she said. "I shall not go to my aunt's, but will stay with you."
"What you like, dearest," he answered.
"When I am grown up," she continued,
