“No, indeed, I had not forgotten you,” said Hatty, and she kissed her affectionately.
Hatty had not forgotten Aunt Barbara; she had had painful reasons for remembering her. The unfortunate, disrespectful words she had spoken to the old lady, had risen up to her again and again, and made her pray with double earnestness to be forgiven for Jesus’ sake.
Aunt Barbara led the way to the nursery, and there on the bed lay the baby, the pet of the house.
“O what a dear, tiny little creature!” said Hatty, bending over it, with a look half wonder and half affection. “I never saw such a little baby before; that is, I don’t remember Harry very well, when he was so young,” she added, for Hatty was trying to be truthful, even about trifles.
“Harry was twice as big at the same age,” said Aunt Barbara. “He always was a bouncer.”
Hatty stooped down to kiss the wee mouth of the sleeping baby, but Aunt Barbara pushed her roughly back, and said impatiently: “Don’t, child! don’t, you’ll wake him.”
“Mamma does not say I mustn’t!” sprang to Hatty’s lips, for she was sadly quick-tempered, but again a blush of shame took the place of hasty words.
“He will wake soon,” said Mrs. Lee, quickly but quietly, “and then, Hatty, you can hold him in your arms; he is not much heavier than your dolly, Susan.”
“Thank you, Mother. I should like that,” said Hatty; she felt that her mother had wished to speak quickly to keep her from wrong words, and she was grateful for the kindness that would help her to do right.
“Now, Hatty, you had better come to your room, and take off your things.”