when, where, and how much. For on the borders of her playfulness there
seemed ever to hang a fringe of thoughtfulness, as if she felt that the
present moment owed all its sparkle and brilliance to the eternal sunlight.
And the appearance was not in the least a deceptive one. The eternal was
not far from her--none the farther that she enjoyed life like a bird, that
her laugh was merry, that her heart was careless, and that her voice rang
through the house--a sweet soprano voice--singing snatches of songs (now a
street tune she had caught from a London organ, now an air from Handel
or Mozart), or that she would sometimes tease her elder sister about her
solemn and anxious looks; for Wynnie, the eldest, had to suffer for her
grandmother's sins against her daughter, and came into the world with a
troubled little heart, that was soon compelled to flee for refuge to the
rock that was higher than she. Ah! my Constance! But God was good to you
and to us in you.

"Where shall we go, Connie?" I said, and the same moment the sound of the
horses' hoofs reached us.

"Would it be too far to go to Addicehead?" she returned.

"It is a long ride," I answered.

"Too much for the pony?"

"O dear, no--not at all. I was thinking of you, not of the pony."

"I'm quite as able to ride as the pony is to carry me, papa. And I want to
get something for Wynnie. Do let us go."

"Very well, my dear," I said, and raised her to the saddle--if I may say