"Tell me one of your stories, Mr. Griggs. I am so tired this evening," said Hermione.
"I do not know what to tell you," I answered. "I was hoping that you would tell me one of yours, all about the fairies and the elves in the park, as you used to when you were a little girl."
"I do not believe in fairies any more," said Hermione, with a little sigh. "I believed in them once,—it was so nice. I want stories of real life now,—sad ones, that end happily."
"A great many happy stories end sadly," I replied, "but few sad ones end happily. Why do you want a sad story? You ought to be gay."
"Ought I? I am not, I am sure. I cannot take everything with a laugh, as some people can; and I cannot be always resigned and religious, as mamma is."
"The pleasantest people are the ones who are always good, but not always alike," I remarked. "It is variety that makes life charming, and goodness that makes it worth living."
Hermione laughed a little.
"That sounds very good,—a little goody, as we used to say when we were small. I wonder whether it is true. I suppose I have not enough variety, or not enough goodness, just at present."
"Why?" I asked. "I should think you had both."
"I do not see the great variety," she answered.