"He's right, dear," returned her aunt, pausing in her knitting. "You are too 'bubbly.' You must learn to concentrate more. But I suppose you are young"—
"Young! Oh, how I dislike that word! I get it every turn I make. Young! Just because I'm not tall like other girls! Indeed, I'm not too young for anything, auntie. Do you realize I'm four-tee-e-n?"
"Just think of it!" her aunt replied, laughing, as she drew Venna down beside her and stroked the rebellious curls. "Fourteen! Do you know what Longfellow says? 'Standing with reluctant feet, where the brook and river meet.'"
"But my feet are not reluctant," Venna replied gaily. "I can hardly keep them from running down the bank and jumping in. I long to set sail, auntie!"
"So did your mother, dearie," came the answer, suddenly serious. "Sail carefully, Venna, there are many hidden rocks."
Venna's bright face sobered and her energetic little figure relaxed as she kneeled down beside her aunt.
"Poor, dear mother! How I wish I could have known her and kissed away all her tears!"
For a moment, both were silent, thinking of the mother who died leaving a tiny baby to its lonely father and a faithful aunt. Venna had often heard the story.
The mother had loved a man unworthy of her affections. Her parents had begged the impulsive girl not to marry him. But she coaxed her own way, and after years of unhappiness, she was left a widow, broken in health and spirit. It was at this period of her mother's life, that Venna's father found, loved, and married her. For one year she knew the great love of a good man, and blossomed back into youth and joyousness, only to leave the world at the birth of her first child, Venna.
"Auntie, don't you think mother sometimes sees us here and knows how happy we are?"