It was a long time before Mrs. Estel succeeded in thoroughly reviving
him. Then he lay on a wide divan with his head on her lap, and talked
quietly of his trouble.

He was too worn out to cry, even when he took the soft curls from his
pocket to show her. But her own recent loss had made her vision keen,
and she saw the depth of suffering in the boy's white face. As she
twisted the curls around her finger and thought of her own fair-haired
little one, with the deep snow drifting over its grave, her tears fell
fast.

She made a sudden resolution. "You shall come here," she said. "I
thought when my little Dorothy died I could never bear to hear a
child's voice again, knowing that hers was still. But such grief is
selfish. We will help each other bear ours together. Would you like to
come, dear?"

Steven sat up, trembling in his great excitement.

"O Mrs. Estel!" he cried, "couldn't you take Robin instead? I could be
happy anywhere if I only knew he was taken care of. You are so
different from the Piersons. I wouldn't feel bad if he was with you,
and I could see him every week. He is so pretty and sweet you couldn't
help loving him!"

She stooped and kissed him. "You dear, unselfish child, you make me
want you more than ever."

Then she hesitated. She could not decide a matter involving so much in
a moment's time. Steven, she felt, would be a comfort to her, but