"I am afraid you can't," said Francis. "You see, the schools have all
begun now. But you mustn't feel so bad. Don't." He touched her
shoulder gently. "Poor little girl!" said he. "Perhaps I ought not to
speak so to you, but you make me so sorry for you I can't help it.
Now you must cheer up; you'll get along all right. You won't be
homesick a bit after a little while; you'll like it here. There are
some nice girls about your age. My cousin Flora will come and see
you. She's older than you, but she's a real nice girl. She's feeling
rather upset over something now, too. Now come, let's get up and go
and see some more of the monuments. You don't want a school. Your
aunt can lookout for you. I should laugh if she couldn't. She's a
rich woman, and you're all she's got in the world. Now come, let's
cheer up, and go look at some more gravestones."

"I guess I'd rather go home," said Lois, faintly.

"Too tired? Well, let's sit here a little while longer, then. You
mustn't go home with your eyes red, your aunt will think I've been
scolding you."

Francis looked down at her with smiling gentleness. He was a handsome
young man with a pale straight profile, his face was very steady and
grave when he was not animated, and his smile occasioned a certain
pleasant surprise. He was tall, and there was a boyish clumsiness
about his shoulders in his gray coat. He reached out with a sudden
impulse, and took Lois' little thin hand in his own with a warm
clasp.

"Now cheer up," said he. "See how pleasant it looks down in the
field."