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Cousin Bessie and I here exchanged glances again. Such a hardened little heart as this was in one so young. We did not remonstrate with her then, but attended to her more immediate physical wants, there was something worth caring for in the little waif, and we determined to do it slowly and surely.
"Thanks," Bessie said, with a triumphant look at Grey, who was standing near. "I thought you would not oppose me, even if Grey did.
I said the signs said this was the way to Little Bear Lake, and you never asked me if I'd changed them, did you?" Bessie laughed helplessly. "Oh, Dolly!" she said. "Of course I didn't; why should I? Who would ever think of doing such a thing, except you? You don't expect people to guess what you're going to do next, do you?" "I suppose not," said Dolly, impenitently, her eyes still twinkling.
The subject of our afternoon chat was hushed in a moment, and we gave our attention to the simple discussion of domestic topics, but it seems to me, if Zita or Louis had been in the least suspicious they could easily have detected the strained, unnatural efforts which cousin Bessie and I both made to appear disinterested and free from distractions, during the rest of that evening.
And still, he never for a moment swerved in his heart from Bessie; that is, he never harbored the thought that she would not one day be his wife, and he still hugged the delusion that he preferred poverty with her to riches with any other woman in all the world.
Bessie was rather surprised to receive a letter from Christine the following morning, with a little penciled note from Hatty inside. "Father was too busy to write," Christine said. "He had a very anxious case on hand, but he hoped Hatty was rather better that day, and he thought they could do without Bessie a little longer, as her friends seemed to need her so much.
Think of all the past, and how he has stood by you." "Yes, I know, Bessie, that he has done nobly by us. But he does not understand us girls, and thinks we ought to obey him like children. I can't do it, and I will not." Bessie was a woman of prayer, and often she carried their troubles to the throne of grace.
He wore a light overcoat over his evening dress, and had evidently spent his evening out. "Good-night, Richard," observed Edna, with a careless nod, as she passed him; but Bessie held out her hand with a smile. "Good-night, Mr. Sefton. What a beautiful evening it has been!"
"Oh ye strong-minded!" said Hugh, jumping up, and lifting the pile of sticks; "don't you know that you cannot start a fire in the sunshine? Down under this stump, now, it will burn like a furnace." So saying, Hugh rearranged the fuel, while Rose coughed, Edith furtively rubbed her dress, and Bessie bound up her burned hand in her handkerchief.
"You may come in if you like, old fellow," she said, wondering at his sudden friendship for a stranger; and, sure enough, the hound walked in and stretched himself under the writing-table, with his nose between his paws, quietly observant of every movement. When Bessie had finished her unpacking, she proceeded to brush out her bright, brown hair, and arrange it in her usual simple fashion.
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