"I was only day-dreaming; but I mean this one shall come true," and Ned rose straight up, with an energy that surprised his sister.
"Come and have your lunch, for it's time. Which will you take, Mrs. Neal's wine-jelly or my custard?" asked Polly, settling him in his big chair.
To her astonishment, Ned pitched the little mould of amber jelly into the fire, and tried to eat the custard with his left hand.
"My dear boy, have you lost your senses?" she ejaculated.
"No; I've just found them," he answered, with a flash of the eye, that seemed to enlighten Polly without more words.
Taking her usual seat on the arm of the chair, she fed her big nursling in silence, till a sigh made her ask tenderly,—
"Isn't it right? I put in lots of sugar because you like it sweet."
"All the sugar in the world won't sweeten it to me, Polly; for there's a bitter drop at the bottom of all my cups. Will said your tear shone like a diamond in his little pitcher, and well it might. But you can't cry happy tears over me, though I've made you shed enough sad ones to fill the big punch-bowl."
Ned tried to laugh, but somehow the custard choked him; and Polly laid the poor, cropped head on her shoulder for a minute, saying softly,—
"Never mind, dear, I wouldn't think about the old troubles now."