Perhaps you would like to hear one of Stuart's stories. Well, I will tell you one.
It was a stormy evening during Easter; but the bright fire made the nursery look very pleasant. Margery sat near the grate, with Berty sound asleep on her knees; but Margery liked to hear stories as well as the children; so she sat there very still, with one of baby's feet in her hand.
Just opposite nurse, the lounge was drawn up, and there was Stuart with Lily snuggled down against his breast. Helen sat holding her cousin's hand, her curls floating over his shoulder, while her face was all smiles and expectation. Russell occupied a stool pushed up to Stuart's feet, so that one arm rested lovingly on his cousin's knee.
In the corner close by baby, Grandma Rawson sat in the easy-chair, her pale face, framed in beautiful white curls, looking very sweet and smiling.
Mamma was passing by the door, and stopped to view the pleasant scene within the room. She watched the dear children with their eyes fixed so eagerly on Stuart's face, and a keen pang of sorrow shot for one moment through her heart as she missed one precious lamb from the fold.
"How Stuart would have loved her!" she murmured, and with a sigh she passed on.
[CHAPTER VI.]
COUSIN STUART'S STORY.
"RUSSELL," Stuart began, "do you remember telling Sarah yesterday morning that you didn't want your face washed,—it was no use? I'm going to tell you a true story about a boy who had his face washed, and what happened in consequence.
"Early last fall, on Sabbath morning, one of the teachers of our mission school was walking to St. Mary's Church, when she met a poor boy, who was rubbing his fist into his eyes. He had been crying, and rubbing his tears with his dirty hand had made his face look very badly indeed. But the lady, whose name was Allen, pitied him, and so she resolved to try and make him feel better.