"Because," she said, her eyes filling with tears as she spoke, "somebody loved me once, who does not love me now."
"No, I am sure that is not true—every one loves you; mamma, Mr. Ware, Miss Ware, Betsy, John, every one." "I am sure that can't be true, and it is naughty to fancy unkind things; Mabel, dear, dear, Mabel," said the child, jumping on a stool and throwing her arms lightly round her neck, "and you are never naughty."
"Oh, yes I am, many many times a-day," said Mabel, hiding her face on Amy's shoulder, "my good, good, child, what should I do without you."
"Oh, nothing without me, you could not get on at all without me."
"Not very well, I think, certainly," said Mabel, smiling through her tears at Amy's satisfaction, "but we have been a long time away, and mamma must have finished her letter—come and let us seal it before the man calls again, for if it is not ready, what will become of our visitors."
"But, Amy," said she, sinking her voice almost to a whisper, "never tell mamma or any one that I ever cry, or why I cry."
"Oh, never, you know I can keep a secret."
"You promise," said Mabel.
"Yes, I promise faithfully."