the kitchen. She came in and stood
by the fireplace silent.

"Well, dear," said the mother looking up from her work, -- "did
you find them?"

The child's answer was to spring to her side, throw her arms
round her neck, and burst into convulsive tears.

"Winifred!" -- said Mrs. Landholm, putting an arm round the
trembling child, and dropping her work, -- "what ails you,
dear? -- tell me."

The little girl only clung closer to her neck and shook in a
passion of feeling, speechless; till the mother's tone became
alarmed and imperative.

"It's nothing, mother, it's nothing," she said, clasping her
hard, -- "only -- only --"

The words were lost again in what seemed to be uncontrollable
weeping.

"Only what, dear? -- what?"

"Winthrop was crying."

And having said that, scarce audibly, Winifred gave way and
cried aloud.

"Winthrop crying! -- Nonsense, dear, -- you were mistaken."

"I wasn't -- I saw him."

"What was the matter?"

"I don't know."

"What made you think he was crying?"

"I _saw_ him!" cried the child, who seemed as if she could
hardly bear the question and answer.

"You were mistaken, daughter; -- he would not have let you see
him."

"He didn't -- he didn't know I was there."

"Where were you?"

"I was behind the fence --I stopped to look at him -- he didn't
see me."

"Where was he?"

"He was ploughing."

"What did you see, Winifred?"

"I saw him -- oh mamma! -- I saw him put his hand to his eyes, --
and I saw the tears fall --"

Her little head was pressed against her mother's bosom, and
many more tears fell for his than his had been.

Mrs. Landholm was silent a minute or two, stroking Winifred's
head and kissing her.

"And when you went into the field, Winifred, -- how was he
then?"

"Just as always."

"Where was Rufus?"

"He was on the other side."

Again Mrs. Landholm was silent.

"Cheer up, daughter," she said tenderly; -- "I think I know
what was the matter with Winthrop, and it's nothing so very
bad -- it'll be set right by and by, I hope. Don't cry any more
about it."

"What _is_ the matter with him, mamma?" said the child looking
up with eyes of great anxiety and intentness.

"He wants to read and to learn, and I think it troubles him
that he can't do that."

"Is that it? But mamma, can't he?" said his sister with a face
not at all lightened of its care.

"He can't just now very well --you know he must help papa on
the farm."

"But can't he