“Then she kissed me, and put me into the carriage, and John cracked his whip, and we were just starting, when the minister’s boy came running out with my little bag, and said,
“‘Here’s your bag, sis; kiss me and you shall have it.’
“‘I wouldn’t kiss you, no—not for twenty bags,’ said I; ‘I love your mother, and I love your father; but I ain’t “sis” and I don’t love you, and I won’t kiss you.’
“‘Queer one—queer one,’ said he, tossing my silk bag into the carriage, and making a great snow-ball with his hands to throw at John.”
“Hateful thing.”
“You must not say that, Susy.”
“Why not?”
“Because that minister’s boy is your father.”
“Oh—oh—oh,” screamed Susy, hopping up and down, “did I ever—did I ever—who would have thought it, that such a hatef—I mean that such a—boy should make such a dear papa, oh, mother; oh, I am so happy, it is so funny.”
“Happy on a rainy day, Susy. I thought an hour ago that you were the most miserable little girl in the world, because you could not make the sun shine.”