hing her gently, she said:

"Mamma, here is a needle-case I made for you, all myself, for a
Christmas present."

The _words_ could not have been heard by Mrs. Elwyn, she only knew that
a voice _not_ Lewie's interrupted her in her reverie.

"Hush! hush! child," she said, waving her hand impatiently towards
Agnes, "be quiet! don't disturb me!"

Oh, what a grieved and disappointed little heart that, as Agnes turned
away with the tears in her eyes, and a lump in her throat.

The next voice that disturbed the young widow was one to which she
always gave attention:

"Mamma! mamma!" cried Lewie, pulling imperiously at her gown; "mamma!
sister feels sorry, speak to sister."

"What is it, dear?" his mother asked.

"Speak to sister! sister crying," said Lewie, pulling her with all the
strength of his little hands towards Agnes.

"What is the matter, Agnes? Why are you crying? What did you say to me a
few moments ago?" asked her mother.

Agnes tried to say "It is no matter, mamma," bet she sobbed so bitterly
that she could not form the words. But Lewie, who had seen and
understood the whole thing, pulled the needle-case from his sister's
hand, and gave his mother to understand that Agnes had made it for her,
and then he struck his little hand towards her and called her "naughty
mamma, to make sister cry!"

More to please Lewie than for any other reason, Mrs. Elwyn took the
needle-case, and said:

"Why Agnes, did you make this yourself, and for me? how pretty it is;
isn't it, Lewie? Now Agnes, you may fill it with needles for me."

Agnes wiped her eyes and began her task, but that painful lump would not
go away from her throat. Ah! if those kind words had only come at first!

How much suffering is caused to the hearts of little children by mere
thoughtlessness, sometimes in those even who love them; by a want of
sympathy in their little griefs and troubles, as great and all-important
to them, as are the troubles of "children of a larger growth," in their
own estimation.

VI.

The Tableaux.

"A mournful thing is love which grows to one so mild as thou,
With that bright restlessness of eye--that tameless fire of brow
Mournful! but dearer far I call its mingled fear and pride,
And the trouble of its happiness than aught on earth beside."

--MRS. HEMANS.

Lewie recovered rapidly; and by the time that "the singing of birds had
come," the roses bloomed as brightly as ever in his cheeks; and