“But what are you doing up this time of night?” Mr. Ford asked. “You should have been in bed and asleep hours ago.”
Mabel gave him a mighty hug, and crept upstairs again, feeling very sorry for Harold, and wishing that she could do something to comfort him.
The re-instatement in the favor of her friends seemed a small thing, compared to this last matter of interest, and after she had cuddled down again by the side of her sister Alice, she got up and went to the door leading to Harold’s room, to whisper to him, through the key hole, “Good-night, Harold, I hope you will sleep well, and I’ll stay awake all night if you think you will feel lonely.”
But Harold did not hear her, for he had cried himself to sleep long before, and, though Mabel’s promise to stay awake was made in all good faith, it was not ten minutes later that she was soundly sleeping too, little dreaming that she would be the first one to bring comfort to the boy’s sorrowful heart.
CHAPTER VII.
WORN out with his grief, Harold slept rather late the next morning, and Mrs. Ford would not have him disturbed. Since it was Saturday, Mabel did not have to go to school, and she amused herself as best she could in the garden. She wished that Harold would come down, but she concluded that, until he did, she would occupy herself by playing marbles. The fact that they hurt her knuckles did not deter her from making up her mind to keep on till she could do as well as Harold.
“SHE OCCUPIED HERSELF WITH TRYING TO PLAY MARBLES.”
She was so absorbed in this employment that she did not hear the gate open, nor see who had entered, till she heard someone close beside her, say: “That’s a pretty good shot for a little girl,” and looking up, she saw a gentleman whose face looked rather familiar.
She jumped to her feet and stood gazing at him, her recollection who it was gradually returning, and then she cried out: “Why, you weren’t alive yesterday.”