Chee was troubled with these mournful thoughts when she suddenly became conscious that some one near was crying—very softly, but surely crying.
There was an opening which had been cut through for a register from Chee’s room to the “best room” below.
“It must be Cousin Gertrude, and something awful must be the matter to make anybody big cry almost out loud.”
She could not endure it long, just to lie still and listen. Creeping down the front stairs, she noiselessly entered the best bedroom, and slipped her hand into Gertrude’s.
“Why, Childie, how came you here?” The young lady tried to speak as though tears were not even then rolling down her cheeks.
“To comfort you,” was the simple explanation.
For a moment, big blue eyes looked yearningly into little black ones, then dropped, and tears stole from under quivering lashes.
Chee crept closer. “Wouldn’t it help you to tell me about your secret?” she asked, sobbingly.
Cousin Gertrude took the little girl in her arms. Sitting on the bed she rocked her gently back and forth, as though to quiet the would-be comforter herself.
“It was because I was angry. I know it. I am all to blame. Who had a better right to tell me of my faults? But I had been abroad and he hadn’t, and he made me so indignant. I’ve such an awful temper, Birdie, you must never let yours run away with you.”