"To be sure I will," replied Harry, a little tartly, for he misapprehended Julia's meaning.
He thought she was afraid he would not tell his wrong acts; whereas her deep interest in him rendered her anxious to have the whole, even to the smallest particulars.
"I shall be so delighted! I do so love to hear a good story!" exclaimed Julia.
"You shall have it all; but where were you going? It will take me a good while."
"I was going to carry these doughnuts to Mrs. Lane. She is a poor widow, who lives over the back lane. She has five children, and has very hard work to get along. I carry something to her every week."
"Then you are a little angel!" added Harry, who could understand and appreciate kindness to the poor.
"Not exactly an angel, though Mrs. Lane says I am," replied Julia, with a blush.
"Aunty Gray, over to the poorhouse, used to call everybody an angel that brought her anything good. So I am sure you must be one."
"Never mind what I am now. I am dying to hear your story," interposed Julia, as she seated herself on another rock, near that occupied by Harry.
"Here goes, then"; and Harry proceeded with his tale, commencing back beyond his remembrance with the traditionary history which had been communicated to him by Mr. Nason and the paupers.