ly in a fever of anxiety by
her pranks. _He_ never laughed at her mishaps and mistakes, never played
tricks upon her like a certain William, who composed the most trying
nicknames, and wickedly goaded the wild visitor into all manner of
naughtiness. Christy stood up for her through everything; let her ride
the cows, feed the pigs, bang on the piano, and race all over the spice
mill, feasting on cinnamon and cloves; brought her down from housetops
and fished her out of brooks; never scolded, and never seemed tired of
the troublesome friendship of little Torment.

In a week I had exhausted every amusement and was desperately homesick.
It has always been my opinion that I should have been speedily restored
to the bosom of my family but for Christy, and but for him I should
assuredly have run away before the second week was out. He kept me, and
in the hour of my disgrace stood by me like a man and a brother.

One afternoon, inspired by a spirit of benevolence, enthusiastic but
short-sighted, I collected several poor children in the barn, and
regaled them on cake and figs, helping myself freely to the treasures of
the pantry without asking leave, meaning to explain afterward. Being
discovered before the supplies were entirely exhausted, the patience of
the long-suffering matron gave out, and I was ordered up to the garret
to reflect upon my sins, and the pleasing prospect of being sent home
with the character of the worst child ever known.

My sufferings were deep as I sat upon a fuzzy little trunk all alone in
the dull garret, thinking how hard it was to do right, and wondering why
I was scolded for feeding the poor when we were expressly bidden to do
so. I felt myself an outcast, and bewailed the disgrace I had brought
upon my family. Nobody could possibly love such a bad child; and if the
mice were to come and eat me then and there--a la Bishop Hatto--it
would only be a relief to my friends. At this dark moment I heard
Christy say below, 'She meant it kindly, so I wouldn't mind, Fanny;' and
then up came my boy full of sympathy and comfort. Seeing the tragic
expression of my face, he said not a word, but, sitting down in an old
chair, took me on his knee and held me close and quietly, letting the
action speak for itself. It did most eloquently; for the kind arm seemed
to take me back from that dreadful exile, and the friendly face to
assure me without words that I had not sinned beyond forgiveness.

I had not shed a tea