had been scrubbed, and the
stove polished like a shiny black mirror, and the bread-dough had
been kneaded and set to rise, he knew he would be a welcome
visitor again.

Perhaps that was one of the many reasons why people loved him so.
He was always considerate. He had the good sense not to keep on
asking questions and offering help when it was best to go quietly
away. Somehow he always felt sure that his turn would come
presently, and that Almira Jane would be sorry she had called him
such a hard name, and would be only too pleased to have him look
over the beans for the bean-pot, and fill the wood-box, and do all
the other little kitchen chores that he delighted in.

There were sure to be pleasant times after one of Almira Jane's
nervous attacks. When she was quite over her flurry and worry,
Daisy, the Maltese cat, would crawl out of her hiding-place under
the stove, and arch her tail, and purr contentedly as she rubbed
her long, graceful body against the table-legs; while Gyp, the pet
dog, would hurry in from the dog-house under the shade of the
orchard-trees, and jump on Almira Jane's shoulder, and she would
be as pleased as possible over his knowing ways. At such times
Master Sunshine was very fond of Almira Jane.

He loved Lucy with a steady affection, too, though she pulled his
curls sometimes until he fairly expected to lose the whole of his
golden locks. She needed a great deal of patient amusement, too,
and she was not very considerate of his belongings.

One day he was very angry, and his hand was lifted in anger
against her.

The trouble was that she had torn in two his favorite picture of
elephants in his animal book. The little girl was quite unaware of
the mischief her chubby fingers had wrought, but she knew very
well by the look of Master Sunshine's overcast face that in some
way she had displeased him.

So, pursing up her lips in a smile not unlike his own sunshiny
one, she lisped, in funny imitation of her mother,--

"Never mind, Suns'ine, little sister's sorry;" and, strange to
say, at her words the angry passion left him, and tears of shame
stood in his blue eyes.

"Of course," he said afterwards, in telling the story to his
mother, "I know that Lucy didn't know the sense of what she was
saying, but she did seem to know how to get at the "sensibliness"
of me. Just imagine, mother, how bad we would all have felt if I
had struck my own dear sister that God sent us to take care of!"

And