forgetful of the unkindness of Robert and the injustice of his parents.
So light are the cares and mishaps of youth, so easily forgotten are its
hardships, either seeming or real. Happy childhood!

Whether little cousin Helen had been on the watch for Charley, or
whether she was there by accident, it matters not, suffice it to say
that the two soon met in their headlong career of fun and frolic, and
two more joyous or merry spirits never met on the soft green sward than
these. Now they tire of the play at ball and sit down together close by
the brink of the clear, deep pond, next the rich flower beds that shed
their grateful fragrance around the spot. Cousin Helen, still panting
from the exertion of the play, looked thoughtfully into the almost
transparent water, and involuntarily heaved a sigh that did not escape
her companion's notice.

"Art sick, cousin Helen?" asked Charles, quickly.

"Nay, not I," said the pleasant-voiced child, "not I, Charley."

"But you sighed as though you were very tired or in pain," he continued.

"Did I?" said the child, thoughtfully; "well, I believe I did."

"And what for, cousin Helen?" said Charles, tenderly, parting her
natural ringlets back from her beautiful and radiant face--doubly
radiant now as she looked up into his, so confidingly and so
affectionately.

"I was thinking," she said, ingenuously, "how cruel Robert was to your
mother's pet. I don't see how he could do such a thing, do you,