He stared at her a minute—then he laughed. “I suppose they will.... I had n’t thought of it.” His eyes dwelt on her fondly.
“Yes.—They ’ll like it.—They ’re nice folks.”
“How do you know?—You seen them?” They often played like this.
“I know.” She nodded wisely. “There’s fahvers and muwers and little uns—bairns-like me.” She was looking at something far away—Then her eyes flashed back to his. “They ’ll like it,” she said swiftly, “They ’ll help—They ’ll bring out the beautiful things—great handfuls!” She threw them out with her lavish little hands.
He caught them both in one of his. But he was not looking at her. He was seeing something far off... something the child’s words made him see.... He looked at it so long that one of the hands freed itself and reached up to the intent face, stroking it.... Then he looked down and saw her. He smiled at her—with deep eyes... with the little shadow playing in them—far back.... “So you love folks?” he said slowly.
“We must e’en love everybody,” she repeated as if it were a lesson.
“Everybody?” He looked at her, a little startled at the words.
The clear eyes lifted themselves—“Gran-’ther says we must do justice to all men,” she said gravely. “But Grannie says we must forgi’e ’em—she says we must e’en love ’em.”
“Then you must love him—the bad man.” He said the words half teasingly, half gravely.
Her face clouded. But the eyes were untroubled. “I don’t fink anybody loves him,” she said simply, “But Grannie says we e’en must.” She gave a little sigh.