CHAPTER V.

VISIT TO KITTY.

MAURICE had stood during the whole interview, his eyes fastened on the sick girl, fascinated by her sweet smile, and low-spoken words, and at last, when she turned to him and asked,—

"Are you the kind boy who brought me a dinner of strawberries?"

He blushed with pleasure.

As nothing was said about the dressing-gown, Mrs. Seyton did not allude to it, and, fearing to fatigue Kitty, soon rose to leave.

"I'm so glad you've come early this year," murmured the invalid. "It'll be so nice to have you run in every day as you used to."

"She's been counting the days till July," added her sister, eagerly. "She thought you'd be here by the Fourth."

"I'll come any time to read to you, if Hepsey will let me know when you are able. It is a favor to me, Kitty, to be with you. We settled that last year, you remember; and Maurice, I'm sure, will love to run of errands for you."

The little fellow scarcely spoke all the way home. What do you suppose he was thinking of? Why, he was wondering how much worse Kitty's pain was than his toothache; and whether she ever had that, and how she learned to bear all her sufferings so patiently. He wondered, too, whether she had to study and do sums. As she lay in the bed she did not look much taller than he, and mamma said she was not a woman but a girl.

"If she does have lessons," he said to himself, "I should like to know whether she can spell better than I can and whether she is always patient in learning them."

Mrs. Seyton noticed that Maurice was very thoughtful, and she hoped the sight of Kitty might do him great good. She resolved to tell him the poor girl's story that very night, as she was sure it would add to his interest and sympathy in her sufferings.

His usual bed hour in the summer was eight; but on this day he had played so hard he was quite ready to accompany his mamma when she called him, soon after supper.

There was a large butternut tree close by the house, so near, indeed, that the branches touched the windows. In a fork formed by two large boughs, a pair of robins had built their nest; and they were just warbling their good-night song to their little ones, when Mrs. Seyton and Maurice approached the window.

For a few moments they stood and listened, and then the lady said,—

"I am going to tell you the story I promised."

"About poor Kitty, mamma?"

"Yes; when I was first married to your father, he brought me here to see his parents. Your uncle George and aunt Lily lived at home then; but now they have homes and families of their own, as your father has. About an hour after we came, we walked to the top of the hill to see the beautiful sunset, and on our way back, a bright, pretty child met us, and timidly held out to me a bouquet of wild flowers. The act was gracefully done, and I eagerly asked,—

"Are these pretty flowers for me?"

"The color crimsoned her cheeks as she answered softly,— 'Yes, ma'am.'"

"'A present to the bride, are they, Kitty?' asked your father, gaily. 'Now let me introduce you, Miss Catherine Maynard, this is my new wife. I shall ask you presently how you like her looks. Mrs. Seyton, this is Miss Maynard, one of my best friends.'"

"Kitty by this time had lost all her shyness, and laughed merrily."

"'He always is so funny,' she said to me, apologizing for her mirth."

"From this time, Kitty and I understood each other well. She was the third and youngest daughter of Mrs. Maynard, but so different from the others, it seemed scarcely possible that she belonged to them. They felt the difference, too, and regarded her with pride as well as affection.

"When we left F— for our own home, Mrs. Maynard promised to let Kitty come and make us a visit during the winter, but she never came."

"Why not, mamma?"

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