“I have not forgotten you this time, little one; see here, what a lot of pretty stories to read these long winter evenings,” said Mr. Alick, unwrapping a parcel from which he took a large volume of “Fairy Tales,” profusely illustrated with splendidly colored engravings.
What child’s heart does not dote on Fairy Tales and on colored pictures?
Little Drusilla’s eyes fairly leaped with joy, and she caught the young man’s hand and kissed it eagerly, and pressed it to her heart, and put it on her head. Apparently she could not do enough to express how much she was obliged to him.
“Oh, nonsense; I’m not the Emperor of Morocco or Khan of Tartary, to be worshipped after that fashion,” laughed the young man, “and my knuckles must be knobby sort of kissing. Up here, crimson lips, and kiss me on the mouth, if nothing but kissing will relieve your mind. Come, Miss Anna won’t be jealous, not now, at least, though I don’t know what she might be if you were seventeen instead of seven.” And he took her up in his arms, and kissed her very fondly.
“And now see here,” he said, as he put her down again, “here is something else I have got for you—a pretty little papier mâché writing desk, furnished completely. See, here is an inkstand and a sand box, here are pens of several sizes, and pencils of all qualities, and here are envelopes and note-paper of every color and shade. Now I know you can write a little, as well as read a great deal. So, when I go away again, I want you, instead of sending me messages, to write me nice little notes, and give them to my mother, and she will put them inside of hers, and send them to me. Do you hear?”
“Yes, sir,” said the child, gravely, as the tears stole down her cheeks.
“Now, then, what are you crying for?”
“Because you are so good to me, and—and you are going away again, and I shall not see you for—for—for a year,” sobbed the little Drusilla.
“Whe-ew! here’s borrowing trouble! Why, I shall not go for six weeks yet, and who knows but the world may come to an end before that time, and we may all go to Heaven together? Come, stop crying. What! you can’t? Hey day! Do you love me as much as all that comes to?”
“Yes, sir,” sobbed the child.