“You know,” she whispered, glancing at her mother, who had leaned her head on the back of the seat in front of her, and appeared to be sleeping, “I want to see Carlo and kitty, and the ranch, and all the lambs; but I mustn’t let mama know, because it’ll make her cry.”
“You’re a good little girl to think of your mother,” said the boy, who was anxious to cultivate her confidence, but too well-bred to question her.
“She has no one now but me to love her,” she continued, lowering her voice. “They took papa from us, and carried him away, and mama says he’ll never come back. He’s not gone to San Antonio, he’s gone to heaven; and we can’t go there now. We’re going to New York; but I’d rather go to heaven where papa is, only mama says there are no trains or ships to take us there, now, but by-and-by we’re going if we’re very good.”
The boy listened to her innocent prattle with a sad smile, glancing uneasily now and then at the mother, fearful lest the plaintive little voice might reach her ear; but she seemed to be sleeping, sleeping uneasily, and with that hot flush still burning on her cheeks.
“Have you ever been in New York?” he asked, looking tenderly at the little head nestled against his arm. She had taken off her hat, and was very comfortably curled up on the seat with Tony in her lap. The bird also seemed perfectly satisfied with his position.
“Oh, no; I’ve never been anywhere only on the ranch. That’s where Carlo, and kitty, and the lambs were, and my pony, Sunflower; he was named Sunflower, because he was yellow. I used to ride on him, and papa lifted me on, and took me off; and Sunflower was so gentle. Dear papa—I—loved him best of all and now he’s gone away, and I can’t see him again.”
Here the rosy little face was buried in Tony’s feathers, and something like a sob made the listener’s heart ache.
“Come, come,” he said softly, “you mustn’t cry, or I shall think you don’t care for the blue heron.”
In a moment, her little head was raised, and a smile shone through her tears. “Oh, I do, I do. And if I can have him I won’t cry for the others.”
“I’m quite sure your mama will consent. Now, let me tell you about my home. I live in New Orleans, and I have lots of pets,” and the boy went on to describe so many delightful things that the child forgot her grief in listening; and soon, very soon the weary little head drooped, and she was sleeping with her rosy cheek pressed against his shoulder, and Tony clasped close in her arms.