“I want to go and see that poor little boy. I will bring him to my nursery and put him in my little bed, and take care of him. Then he will get quite well.”
And she looked much disappointed when her mamma explained that this was not necessary; somebody having already carried the little boy home to his mamma.
“Then his mamma will cuddle him, and kiss the sore place, and he will be quite well soon. Is he quite well?”
“Yes,” answered Sunny’s mamma, after a minute’s thought,—“yes, he is quite well now; nothing will ever hurt him any more.”
Sunny was perfectly satisfied.
But her mamma, when she kissed the little curly head, and laid it down on its safe pillow, thought of that other mother,—mourning over a dead child,—thoughts which Little Sunshine could not understand, nor was there any need she should. She may, some day, when she has a little girl of her own.
CHAPTER III.
Little Sunshine had never yet beheld the sea. That wonderful delight, a sea-beach, with little waves running in and running back again, playing at bo-peep among shingle and rocks, or a long smooth sandy shore, where you may pick up shells and seaweed and pebbles, and all sorts of curious things, and build castles and dig moats, filled with real water,—all this was unknown to the little girl. So her mamma, going to spend a day with a dear old friend, who lived at a lovely seaside house, thought she would take the child with her. Also “the big child,” as her Sunny sometimes called Lizzie, who enjoyed going about and seeing new places as much as the little child.
They started directly after breakfast one morning, leaving behind them the parrot, the dogs, and everything except Franky, who escorted them in the carriage through four or five miles of ugly town streets, where all the little children who ran about (and there seemed no end of them) had very rough bare heads, and very dirty bare feet.
Sunny was greatly struck by them.