“I could, perhaps, about some things, but only not that about you. Aunt Judy, you know what I mean.”
Aunt Judy leant back in her chair. “Only not that.” It was, as she knew, the cry of the universal world, although it broke now from the lips of a child. And it was painful, though touching, to feel herself the treasure that could not be parted with.
So there was a silence of some minutes, during which the hand of the little sister lay in that of the elder one.
But the latter soon roused up and spoke.
“I’ll tell you what, No. 6, there’s nothing so foolish as talking of how we shall feel, and what we shall do, if so-and-so happens. Perhaps it never may happen, or, if it does, perhaps we may be helped to bear it quite differently from what we have expected. So we won’t say anything more about it now.”
“I’m so glad!” exclaimed No. 6, completely reassured and made comfortable by the cheerful tone of her sister’s remark, though she had but a very imperfect idea of the meaning of it, as she forthwith proved by rambling off into a sort of self-defence and self-justification.
“And I’m not really a baby now, you know, Aunt Judy! And I do know a great many things that are good and bad for us. I know that you are good for us, even when you scold over sums.”
“That is a grand admission, I must own,” replied Aunt Judy, smiling; “I shall remind you of it some day.”
“Well, you may,” cried No. 6, earnestly; and added, “you see I’m not half as silly as you thought.”
Aunt Judy looked at her, wondering how she should get the child to understand what was passing through her own mind; wondering, too whether it was right to make the attempt; and she decided that on the whole it was; so she answered:—