." So said little Lucina Merritt,
making her sweet assumption of selfishness to cover her
unselfishness, for the noisy parrot was the desire of her heart, and
to her father's eyes she bore the aspect of an angel, and he
swallowed a great sob of mingled admiration and awe and intensest
love. And indeed the child's face as she stood there had about it
something celestial, for every line and every curve therein were as
the written words of purest compassion; and in her innocent blue eyes
stood self-forgetful tears.

Even the boy Jerome, with the pride of poverty to which he had been
born and bred, like a bitter savor in his heart, stared at her a
moment, his eyes dilated, his mouth quivering, and half advanced his
hand to take the gift so sweetly offered. Then all at once the full
tide of self rushed over him with all its hard memories and
resolutions. His eyes gave out that black flash of wrath, which the
poor little Lucina had feared, yet braved and forgot through her fond
pity, he dashed out the back of his hand so roughly against that
small tender one that all the silver pieces were jostled out to the
floor, and rushed out of the door.

Squire Eben Merritt made an indignant exclamation and one threatening
stride after him, then stopped, and caught up the weeping little
Lucina, and sought to soothe her as best he might.

"Never mind, Pretty; never mind, Pretty," he said, rubbing his rough
face against her soft one, in a way which was used to make her laugh.
"Father 'll buy you a parrot that will talk the roof off."

"I don't--want a parrot, father," sobbed the little girl. "I want the
boy to have shoes."

"Summer is coming, Pretty," said Squire Eben, laughingly and
caressingly, "and a boy is better off without shoes than with them."

"He won't--have any--for next winter."

"Oh yes, he shall. I'll fix it so he shall earn some for himself
before then--that's the way, Pretty. Father was to blame. He ought to
have known better than to let you offer money to him. He's a proud
child." The Squire laughed. "Now, don't cry any more, Pretty. Run
away and play. Father's going fishing, and he'll bring you home some
pretty pink fishes for your supper. Don't cry any more, because poor
father can't go while you cry, and he has been delayed a long time,
and the fishes will have eaten their dinner and won't bite if he
doesn't hurry."

Lucina, who was docile even in grief, tried to laugh, and when her
father set her down wit