glad."

But Jusy knew better, and as soon as he could get a chance, he whispered
to Rea, "I should have thought you would have known better than to say
anything to Uncle George about his having tears in his eyes. It was
because we reminded him so much of mamma, that he cried. I saw the
tears come in his eyes, the first minute he saw us, but I wasn't going
to say a word about it."

Poor little Rea felt badly enough to think she had not understood as
quickly as Jusy did; but the only thing she could think of to do was to
spring up in the seat of the wagon, and put her arms around her uncle's
neck, and kiss him over and over, saying, "We are going to love you,
like,--oh,--like everything, Jusy and me! I love you better than my
doggie!"

But when she said this, the tears came into Mr. Connor's eyes again; and
Rea looked at Jusy in despair.

"Keep quiet, Rea," whispered Jusy. "He doesn't want us to talk just
yet, I guess;" and Rea sat down again, and tried to comfort herself with
Fairy. But she could not keep her eyes from watching her uncle's face.
Her affectionate heart was grieved to see him look so sad, instead of
full of joy and gladness as she had thought it would be. Finally she
stole her hand into his and sat very still without speaking, and that
really did comfort Mr. Connor more than anything she could have done.
The truth was, Rea looked so much like her mother, that it was almost
more than Mr. Connor could bear when he first saw her; and her voice
also was like her mother's.

Jusy did not in the least resemble his mother; he was like his father
in every way,--hair as black as black could be, and eyes almost as black
as the hair; a fiery, flashing sort of face Jusy had; and a fiery,
flashing sort of temper too, I am sorry to say. A good deal like
thunder-storms, Jusy's fits of anger were; but, if they were swift and
loud, like the thunder, they also were short-lived,--cleared off
quickly,--like thunder-storms, and showed blue sky afterward, and a
beautiful rainbow of sorrow for the hasty words or deeds.

Rea was fair, with blue eyes and yellow hair, and a temper sunny as her
face. In Italy there are so few people with blue eyes and fair hair,
that whenever Rea was seen in the street, everybody turned to look at
her, and asked who she was, and remembered her; and when she came again,
they said, "Ecco! Ecco! (That is Italian for Look! Look!) There is the
little blue-eyed, golden-haired angel." Rea did not kn