The child put her arms around
her brother's neck and looked steadily into the honest grey eyes, so
full of thought and so striking in their depths.
"Phillip, you are troubled, and you are hiding it from me. Dearest
and best of brothers, can I not help you? I am not the little child
you think me. Oh! Phillip; I can be a woman when I am needed," and
the large bright eyes filled with tears.
"What nonsense, Puss. What an imaginary little creature you are. Now
please drive away such silly thoughts, and when Brother Phillip is
in need of sympathy he will ask none other than his little sunbeam."
The young man then kissed back the sunny smiles and listened to the
playful prattle which fell from the bright lips. Then he thought of
the lines--
"The tear down childhood's cheek that flows
Is like the dew-drop on the rose;
When next the summer breeze comes by
And waves the bush, the flower is dry."
"What have you there, Puss?" said Phillip, glancing at the volumes
in the child's hand.
"I can scarcely tell you, but I believe they are good, for Miss
Lewis recommended them."
Mr. Lawson took up one of the volumes. It was Miss Alcott's first
work--"Moods.
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