Of course this was a short-lived pleasure when any older person saw him,
but when they were alone, Jennie would endure the pain patiently until
she could coax the little fellow to let go.

She never gave him a cross word, and when the nurse would say
impatiently, "Indade, thin, Miss Jennie, it's a wonder ye don't just
shlap his hands!" she would answer gravely, "Oh, no, he's so much
littler than I am."

Yet Jennie was not perfect, and though she generally tried to do what
was right, sometimes, like the rest of the world, she wanted to do what
she knew was wrong.

One bright afternoon, when she was playing in the yard, her mother
called her:--

"Your aunt and I must ride to the station directly, to meet uncle and
your father, and I would like to have you go quietly into the nursery
and sit there until Maggie returns from an errand; it will not be long."

"But Willie is sound asleep, mamma, he doesn't want me," said Jennie,
who was anxious to stay out of doors.

"Yes, dear, I know it, but we shall feel safer to have some one in the
room, even if he is asleep; something may happen if he is alone."

Jennie, however, was so unwilling to sit quietly in the house that even
these familiar words did not attract her, but with slow steps and a
sullen face, she obeyed her mother's wishes.