His dark eyes wore their softest shade as
he stole to his mother's side, and, twining his little arms around her
neck, drew her face down to his, saying, with a kiss: "Willie is so
sorry?"
"For what should Willie be sorry?" said the mother, tenderly caressing
him.
"Because mamma is sad. Does she want Willie to do anything?"
"No, sweet boy, she wants nothing done that Willie can do."
"If mamma's head aches, Willie will hold it."
"Her head does not ache."
"If mamma wants Willie to stop teasing her and go to bed, he will go."
"You are not teasing me, dear Willie, and it is rather too early for
you to go to bed."
The widow strove to chase the gloom from her brow, that she might not
darken by its shadow the bright sunshine of her child's early life,
and with an effort at cheerfulness she exclaimed: "Now go, Willie, and
get the pretty book Cousin Elizabeth gave you, and see if you can read
the stories in it."
Willie ran off to obey with cheerful alacrity.
The doctor was not able to do more for his sister-in-law than to give
her the cottage and supply her with the necessaries of life; and to do
this, he cheerfully curtailed the expenses of his own household.
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