"No, I suppose not," said Tom, speaking more gayly; "but we will not have any more preaching just now, only—I would like to tell you a story, Lily. Shall I?"
"Yes, indeed, please do," answered Lily, brightening a little at the prospect.
"It is a very sad story, but I thought it would just fit here," said her brother.
"I'm not in a state of mind for a pleasant story," said Lily, who had lately fallen into the way of using long words, and "grown-up" phrases, after the example of her little friends, Maggie and Bessie.
"No, I suppose not," said Tom, suppressing all inclination to smile. "Well, you know Will Sturges, Lily?"
"Oh, yes, that very sorry-looking boy, whose father is dead, you told me," said Lily. "Tom, it always makes me feel sorry to see him. He hardly ever smiles, or looks happy. You know mamma told you to ask him here often, and see if you could not brighten him up; but he don't seem to brighten up at all. Bessie said he looked 'as if he had a weight on his mind' all the time."
"Ah! that is just it," said Tom. "He has a terrible weight on his mind; a grief that is there night and day. He thinks it is through his fault that his father was killed; and I suppose that it is so. At least it was brought about by a small neglect of his,—procrastination, or putting off, Lily."
"Did he ever put off?" asked the little girl, opening great eyes of wonder. "Why, he always seems so very punctual, so very ready just when he ought to be."
"Yes," said Tom, "but he was not always so, dear. Never was a more unpunctual, a more dilatory boy than Will Sturges used to be. Poor dear fellow! he has learned better by such a sad lesson. I hope my little sister may never have the like."
"I'm sure," said Lily, "I don't know who has had a sad lesson, if I have not."