with a faint smile beaming through her tears, just putting up her hand to his, in token that he pulled rather too hard.
"To be sure I do," responded he: "only you bother me rather, sometimes."
"I bother you!" cried she in very natural surprise.
"Yes, you—but only by your exceeding goodness—when a boy has been cramming raisins and sugarplums all day, he longs for a squeeze of sour orange by way of a change. And did you never, Milly, observe the sands on the sea-shore; how nice and smooth they look, and how soft and easy they feel to the foot? But if you plod along, for half an hour, over this soft, easy carpet—giving way at every step, yielding the more the harder you press,—you'll find it rather wearisome work, and be glad enough to come to a bit of good, firm rock, that won't budge an inch whether you stand, walk, or stamp upon it; and, though it be hard as the nether millstone, you'll find it the easier footing after all."
