"Not exactly that. I don't think 'caring' ever does us harm; but what one cares for, that is the thing. You will understand in good time."
I looked up again, thoughtfully this time.
"I think I do understand, a little," I said. "You are so kind, Aunt Lois."
"I don't like to see people unhappy if I can cheer them," she said. "Do you, Lois?"
I did not reply.
"Shall I call Emilia?" she said. "You can make her happy again."
"Please," I whispered.
Aunt Lois went to the door, and I heard her call my sister. She must have been waiting somewhere near, for in a moment she was in the room. She ran up to me and put her arms round me and kissed me fondly—more fondly I think than ever any one had kissed me before.
"Dear little Lois," she said, "I have been so sorry about you. Won't you forgive me? And I have not been a good sister to you—I have left you alone to make amusement for yourself when I might have helped you. Aunt Lois has shown me it all, and I want to begin now quite differently, so that you shall never feel lonely again."
I kissed her in return. Who could have helped doing so? There were tears in her eyes—those merry bright eyes that I had never before seen looking sad; and it seemed to me that all of a sudden I found out how sweet and pretty Emilia was.