"Shall I tell Cynthy to get you your milk, grandpa?" said the little girl
rousing herself.

"Yes dear.--Stop,--what if you and me was to have some roast
apples?--wouldn't you like it?"

"Well--yes, I should, grandpa," said Fleda, understanding perfectly why he
wished it, and wishing it herself for that same reason and no other.

"Cynthy, let's have some of those roast apples," said Mr. Ringgan, "and a
couple of bowls of milk here."

"No, I'll get the apples myself, Cynthy," said Fleda.

"And you needn't take any of the cream off, Cynthy," added Mr. Ringgan.

One corner of the kitchen table was hauled up to the fire, to be
comfortable, Fleda said, and she and her grandfather sat down on the
opposite sides of it to do honour to the apples and milk; each with the
simple intent of keeping up appearances and cheating the other into
cheerfulness. There is however, deny it who can, an exhilarating effect in
good wholesome food taken when one is in some need of it; and Fleda at
least found the supper relish exceeding well. Every one furthermore knows
the relief of a hearty flow of tears when a secret weight has been
pressing on the mind. She was just ready for anything reviving. After the
third mouthful she began to talk, and before the bottom of the bowls was
reached she had smiled more than once. So her grandfather thought no harm
was done, and went to bed quite comforted; and Fleda climbed the steep
stairs that led from his door to her little chamber just over his head. It