"Oh yes, he shall. I'll fix it so he shall earn some for himself
before then--that's the way, Pretty. Father was to blame. He ought to
have known better than to let you offer money to him. He's a proud
child." The Squire laughed. "Now, don't cry any more, Pretty. Run
away and play. Father's going fishing, and he'll bring you home some
pretty pink fishes for your supper. Don't cry any more, because poor
father can't go while you cry, and he has been delayed a long time,
and the fishes will have eaten their dinner and won't bite if he
doesn't hurry."

Lucina, who was docile even in grief, tried to laugh, and when her
father set her down with a great kiss, which seemed to include her
whole rosy face pressed betwixt his two hands, picked up her rejected
silver from the floor, put it away in the little box in which she
kept it, and sat down in a window of the south room to nurse her
doll. She nodded and laughed dutifully when her father, going forth
at last to the still pools and the brook courses, with his tackle in
hand, looked back and nodded whimsically at her.

However, her childish heart was sore beyond immediate healing, for
the wounds received from kindness spurned and turned back as a weapon
against one's self are deep.




Chapter VII


In every household which includes a beloved child there is apt to be