forward all the more eagerly.

"So my poor little girl," she said, "I hear you have been in great
trouble."

I did not speak--I began to cry quietly.

"And some one else has been in trouble too," she said; "you have made
Emilia very unhappy."

I raised my head in surprise. "Emilia!" I repeated; "she doesn't care.
She only laughed at me."

"She _does_ care, Lois," said my aunt. "She has tried to tell you so
several times."

"Yes," I said confusedly, "she did; but I didn't think anybody cared
_really_."

"No, you have been thinking of no one but yourself, Lois; that is the
truth, dear. But now listen to me, and don't think I am going to laugh
at you. I understand how you have been feeling. Once, when I was a
little girl, I was very nearly as miserable about the loss of a--guess
now--what _do_ you think?"

I looked up with interest.

"I don't know," I said; "was it a pet bird, or something like that?"

"No," replied Aunt Lois, "nothing half so sensible. I don't think you
could guess. It was nothing but a little sugar mouse, which I had had
for some weeks, till at last one day, forgetting that it was only sugar,
I left it so close to the fire that it melted. But many times in my life
I have thought of my poor mouse with gratitude, Lois. It taught me some
good lessons. Can you guess what they were?"

"Not to care too much for things, I suppose," I said.

"Not _exactly_ that. I don't think 'caring' ever does us harm; but
_what_ one cares for, that is the thing. You will understand in good
time."

I looked up again, thoughtfully this time.

"I think I do understand, a little," I said. "You are so kind, Aunt
Lois."

"I don't like to see people unhappy if I can cheer them," she said. "Do
you, Lois?"

I did not reply.

"Shall I call Emilia?" she said. "You can make _her_ happy again."

"Please," I whispered.

Aunt Lois went to the door, and I heard her call my sister. She must
have been waiting somewhere near, for in a moment she was in the room.
She ran up to me and put her arms round me and kissed me fondly--more
fondly I think than ever any one had kissed me before.

"Dear little Lois," she said, "I have been _so_ sorry about you. Won't
you forgive me? And I have not been a good sister to you--I have left
you alone to make amusement for yourself when I might have helped you.
Aunt Lois has shown me it all, and I want to begin now quite
differently, so that you shall never feel lonely again."

I ki