"Do! do! sister Rosa," said both of the children. She needed no urging, and read the short and beautiful parable with real feeling.
Harty felt touched, he knew not why, but with an effort to look unconcerned, he asked, abruptly, "What does it mean, Rosa?"
"It teaches us many sweet lessons, dear Harty," answered Rosa; "I cannot well explain them all to you, but I know that it is to make us understand that God loves us as the father loved his wandering son. Did you notice that he knew the Prodigal when he was afar off, and ran to meet him? So God sees when we wish to do right, though nobody about us may guess it, and He is ready to welcome us to His love. Is it not strange that the Holy God should love us so tenderly?"
Harty looked wearied, and did not reply. Lucy tried to speak, but she was almost weeping, and her lips would not move.
"Come, we must not talk any more," said Rosa, cheerfully. "See how the things are all lying about. Harty, can you take the box away for me?"
He started off, with a sense of relief, and Rosa was left alone with her little sister. She kissed the child gently, and said, "You must tell me, some time, why those tears come so quickly; I want to know all that troubles you, and be your friend."
Lucy only replied by placing her hand in that of her sister. Harty now returned, and they all went to work busily, and soon arranged the books on the shelves of the bookcase.
"Come, Rosa," said Harty, "I want to show you my room, and to take you down in the orchard;" and he seized her rather forcibly by the hand.
The room was still in confusion, and Rosa would have preferred to stay and see her things nicely put away, but she contented herself with closing one or two of the drawers, and then followed her eager brother. Lucy silently went with them, keeping close to her sister's side, now and then looking half-lovingly, half-wistfully, into Rosa's cheerful face.
Harty's room was a curiosity shop, filled with all kinds of odd things that he had gathered together. Mrs. Maxwell and he had been for a long time at war about the birds' nests, nuts, shells, stones, &c., that he was constantly bringing to the house, and leaving about to her great annoyance. On several occasions she threw away his carefully collected treasures, and at last, the young gentleman, in great displeasure, went to his father and asked, "if he might not be allowed, at least in his own room, to keep anything valuable that he found in his walks." His father consented, and after that his room became a perfect museum. Stuffed birds, squirrel-skins, and crooked sticks were ranged on his mantel-piece, in a kind of order, and the chest of drawers was covered with similar specimens.