The lady bent down and kissed him. He looked very beautiful; his soft wavy hair falling over his white forehead, his deep, earnest eyes; but still there was something in his countenance which made her heart ache. Just so his baby sister had looked before God took her to heaven.
"Do you think father would sell his buggy?" the child went on. "I heard him tell Mr. Morse it was too narrow for him, and that was the reason he bought the carryall. Now the buggy has been standing in the barn a long time, and he don't use it but once in a great while."
Mrs. Dodge laughed, but he seemed so earnest that she went to the head of the stairs and called out:
"Husband, come up here a minute. Here is a boy wants to know if you will sell your buggy."
"Who wants it, Jimmy?"
"I do. Oh, father, please don't laugh. I've been thinking of a plan. I don't want Mr. Crawson to take his money out of the bank for me. If I hadn't been a bad, disobedient boy, I shouldn't have gone in the boat, and then Daniel couldn't have hurt me. I don't want the Doctor not to have his pay because he isn't rich, and he goes to see so many poor people who can't give anything."
"But what has that to do with my buggy, my son?"
"I'll tell you, presently, father. You know the money grandmother gave me; and the bank book with my name in it that's in your desk?"
"Yes, I know."
"Now, father, if you'll take the money for yours, and let me have the buggy, and get Mr. Morse to fix it up and varnish it, then I could give it to the Doctor instead of his old, rattling thing."