r grandmother

e sweet underst

so full of surprises, new sensations and experi

his desire, but she was paradoxically jealous for the strength of character and singleness of purpose which had determined him for the life which

ter of the girl who puzzled her, and who very evidently attracted her son. There was something so subtle and elusive about h

pleasure when Mrs. Malloy asked her to join her. There was little said by either as they walked along, yet there was no constraint. Finally M

wered, "I hope I know

s lying under the tree where probably it had made its home. Picking it up, she murmure

to Mrs. Malloy's face, "and so useless,-a little bird that neve

to laugh, though she, t

against the tree, and sighing restfully, Mrs. Malloy turned to look at her companion. Meg wore the most

drooping, there was a pathetic look about her that went straight to Mrs. Malloy's warm heart. She put her hand

d looking up at Mrs. Malloy she said

and said simply, "Pardon me.

if you should tell me my hair was red, I would not be offended. And th

o untruthful. It is beautiful au

isn't exactly the color one could wear red

k and laughed, and her laugh w

rl you are! It's regular red-headed spunk, though of course your hair is not red. My d

dn't have a father, or mother, or even a big brother to take care of me. Sometimes,-" there was a lit

nd, "this is really yourself that I see now,-a little tame canary made

d at her

nd me, and somehow, I feel that my mother was like you. You won't laug

n my silence and

uld pretend I was a princess, or something else equally improbable. One day, I

rs. Malloy softl

t an ugly, red-headed little object of charit

ging words which longed for utterance. Instead,

ining mother's things. I put on her dress and apron, and take a piece of crochet work in my hands,-the one she

yself lectures for my frivolity, and good advice,-and,-and,-oh, I say the tender little things

ars in her eyes, which had looked out bravely and hopefully upon a world that had little enough to offer her