Quickly Dora pressed her handkerchief over her eyes to dry them, and smiled at the child.
"It is nothing at all, darling; nothing, nothing." And she took her up and pressed the poor little heaving breast to her own, but the more she sought to console her, the more the child sobbed and cried. It was impossible to calm her grief, it was heartrending.
"Mama, mama, are we not going to be happy any more?"
Dora rocked her beloved Eva in her arms and said, with a gay laugh—
"What a little goose it is! Was there ever such a goosikins?"
Eva had hidden her face on her mother's shoulder, and dared not look up for fear of seeing the awful mysterious something that had caused the state of distress in which she had discovered her mother. Her sobs finally died down into hiccoughs, and Dora began to sing to her some songs that the child loved. Eva gazed at her mother, whose face had regained its look of serenity, and then, growing bolder, glanced around into every corner of the room. Smiling once more, after her cautious survey of her surroundings, she ensconced herself more comfortably upon Dora's knees and said—
"Weren't we stupid, mama? There is nothing here, is there? But where can daddy be? How lazy he is to-day!"
"Yes, isn't he? Naughty father, he ought to be at work."
"When I marry," said Eva, "I shall never have a painter."
"Why?" asked Dora, whom the child's chatter always amused.