The soft young lips kissed those that quivered so piteously, and smoothed the wet, wrinkled cheek.
"We'll pray about it, Granny. Somehow it seems as if God made these things plain after a while; and it is in his hands. He hears the ravens cry, poor, hungry little birdies; and he must care for us. He will watch over Florence."
"O Hal, you talk like a minister! Maybe you will be one some day. And it is so sweet to have you, dear boy!"
"I shall never be half good enough," he said solemnly.
He crept up to his room, but laid awake a long while, watching the stars, and thinking.
Florence resolved the next day that she would not go, and braced herself to martyr-like endurance. But oh, how mean and poor every thing appeared by contrast! Charlie in rags,—you never could keep Charlie in whole clothes; Dot playing in the dirt, for, though you washed her twenty times an hour, she would not stay clean; the shabby, old fashioned, tumble-down cottage,—no, Mrs. Osgood never would want any of these wild Arabs visiting her.
So she shed many quiet tears. Perhaps it would be best to make the sacrifice, hard as it was.
Granny saw it all. Her old eyes were not blind, and her heart smote her for something akin to selfishness. Poor, aching heart.
"Flossy," she said, over her heart-break, "if Mr. Howard is satisfied, I think you had better go."