"Oh, no! When I go back home, you know, I can't have it. Aunt Hitty would never let me."
"Won't she?" queried Ralph. "We'll see!"
He spoke with confidence he was far from feeling, and was dimly aware that Araminta had the faith he lacked. "She thinks I'm a wonder-worker," he said to himself, grimly, "and I've got to live up to it."
It was not necessary to count Araminta's pulse again, but Doctor Ralph took her hand—a childish, dimpled hand that nestled confidingly in his.
"Listen, child," he said; "I want to talk to you. Your Aunt Hitty hasn't done right by you. She's kept you in cotton when you ought to be outdoors. You should have gone to school and had other children to play with."
"And cats?"
"Cats, dogs, birds, rabbits, snakes, mice, pigeons, guinea-pigs—everything."
"I was never in cotton," corrected Araminta, "except once, when I had a bad cold."
"That isn't just what I mean, but I'm afraid I can't make you understand. There's a whole world full of big, beautiful things that you don't know anything about; great sorrows, great joys, and great loves. Look here, did you ever feel badly about anything?"
"Only—only—" stammered Araminta; "my mother, you know. She was—was married."