y at
home.

There was one; and as often happens it had grown out of the
family's greatest delight. Winifred was not the Winifred of
former days. The rosy-cheeked, fat, laughing little roll-about
of five years old, had changed by degrees into a slim, pale,
very delicate-looking child of twelve. Great nervous
irritability, and weakness, they feared of the spine, had
displaced the jocund health and sweet spirits which never knew
a cloud. It was a burden to them all, the change; and yet -- so
strangely things are tempered -- the affections mustered round
the family hearth to hide or repair the damage disease had
done there, till it could scarcely be said to be poorer or
worse off than before. There did come a pang to every heart
but Winifred's own, when they looked upon her; but with that
rose so sweet and rare charities, blessing both the giver and
the receiver, that neither perhaps was less blessed than of
old. Winthrop's face never shewed that there was anything at
home to trouble him, unless at times when Winifred was not
near; his voice never changed from its cool cheerfulness; and
yet his voice had a great deal to say to her, and his face
Winifred lived upon all the while he was at home. He never
seemed to know that she was weaker than she used to be; but
his arm was always round her, or it might be under her,
whenever need was; and to be helped by his strength was more
pleasant to Winifred than to have strength of her own.

She was sitting on his knee one day, and they were picking out
nuts together; when she looked up and spoke, as if the words
could not be kept in.

"What _shall_ I do when you are gone!"

"Help mother, and keep Asahel in spirits."

Winifred could not help laughing a little at this idea.

"I wonder if anything could trouble Asahel much," she said.

"I suppose he has his weak point -- like the rest of us," said
Winthrop.

"_You_ haven't."

"How do you know?"

"I don't _know_, but I think so," said Winifred, touching her
hand to his cheek, and then kissing him.

"What's your _weak_ point?"

"They're all over," said Winifred, with a little change of
voice; "I haven't a bit of strength about anything. I don't
think anybody's weak but me."

"Nobody ought to be weak but you," said her brother, with no
change in his.

"I oughtn't to be weak," said Winifred; "but I can't help it."

"It doesn't matter, Winnie," said her brother; "you shall have
the advantage of the strength of all th