And, at the sight of her distress, the big, rough boy forgot the pain that had been inflicted by that little fat chubby hand, and only thought of soothing her.
"Don't be frightened, mother, it ain't much more than a scratch," said Bob lightly, as he entered the cottage, and saw his mother start forward in alarm.
"How did it happen? What have you done?" asked the widow, in a tone of alarm.
"Milly did it; Milly hurt Bob," said the little girl, running forward to the bed.
"Did she?" asked the widow.
The boy nodded. "I was bringing her away from the rocks, and she did not want to come," he said; "and she had an oyster-shell in her hand."
"And struck you with it? O, naughty girl, naughty Milly, to get angry and hurt poor Bob!" said the widow, speaking severely.
"Milly kiss it and make it well," said the child, half penitently, half defiantly.
Her kisses had been received as a recompense for all sorts of misdemeanors before, and she thought they would be quite enough now, and was evidently surprised when the widow said,—
"No; Milly's kisses won't make it well. Poor Bob is hurt, and Milly hurt him."