For an instant she ceased to quiver, and from against his coat came a smothered voice.
“What’s the good of be-being happy,” sobbed Holly, “if you can’t cr-cr-cry?”
A breath of wind from the south swept through the wood, stirring the tender leaves to rustling murmurs. And the sound was like that of a little stream which, obstructed in its course, finds a new channel and leaps suddenly on its way again, laughing joyously.
The End
Transcriber’s Notes:
A List of Chapters has been provided for the convenience of the reader.
Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.