"If you could help me, yes. But trouble must come to all, Tom; and, generally, we must each bear our burdens alone."
"How sad your voice sounds, Bessie."
She made an effort to speak playfully:
"You are getting all sorts of ridiculous fancies in your head; don't be so foolish."
Tom was relieved by her manner, and began to laugh at his own ridiculous mistakes, rising from his knees and brushing the dust away with his handkerchief.
"My head is a poor old trap," he said. "Well, well, I am glad you are happy—very glad."
"And I want you to be happy, Tom."
"I am, upon my word, I am! I don't allow myself to think any more or to look forward, but just live on, glad to be in the sunshine. 'Tisn't a bad world, after all, Bess; things usually come right in the end."
If she could only believe it—if she could but accept his cheerful philosophy and his unwavering trust; but, alas! the sleepless dread at her heart prevented that.
"And about my stupid self, Bessie," added Tom.