Lizzie is a very ingenious person in mending and dressing dollies, and has also the gift of unlimited patience with her charge; so the toilet went off very well, and soon both Sunshine and her doll were ready to go out with Franky’s mamma and see the cows, pigs, sheep, chickens, and all the wonders of the outside establishment, which was a very large one.
Indeed, the pretty lady showed her so many curious things, and played with her so much, that when, just before dark, her own mamma came back, and saw a little roly-poly figure, hugging a large doll, running as fast as ever it could along the gravel walk to meet her, she felt convinced that the first day in Scotland had been a most delightful one, altogether perfect in its way. So much so that, when put to bed, Sunny again forgot Tommy Tinker. She was chattering so much of all she had seen, that it was not until the last minute that she remembered to ask for a “story.”
There was no story in mamma’s head to-night. Instead, she told something really true, which had happened in the street near the house where she had spent the day:
A poor little boy, just come out of school, was standing on the top of the school-door steps, with his books in his hand. Suddenly a horse that was passing took fright, rushed up the steps, and knocked the boy down. He fell several feet, and a huge stone fell after, just on the top of him—and—and—
Mamma stopped. She could not tell any more of the pitiful story. Her child’s eyes were fixed upon her face, which Little Sunny reads sometimes as plain as any book.
“Mamma, was the poor little boy hurt?”
“Yes, my darling.”
“Very much hurt?”
“Very much, indeed.”
Sunny sat upright, and began speaking loud and fast, in her impetuous, broken way.