The poor woman laughed; but, at the same time, brushed a tear from her eye with the corner of her apron.
“I thought,” said Little One, “I was the only unhappy one in the world: it seemed a pity my heart should ache so much; but, oh, I would rather have it ache than be dried up!”
“I suppose you never were beaten,” said the old woman; “you were never pelted with whizzing stones?”
“Indeed I never, never was!” replied Little One, greatly shocked by the question.
“By your costly dress, I know you never were so poor as to be always longing for food. Let me tell you, my good child, when one is beaten and scolded, and feels cold all winter, and hungry all summer, it is no wonder one’s heart dries up!”
Little One threw her arms about the old woman’s neck. “Let me help you pick sticks!” said she; “you are too old for hard work; your hands tremble too much.”
Swiftly gathering up a load of fagots, she put them together in a bundle.
“Now, how many jewels shall I give her?” thought the child. “She must never want for food again.”
“How many?” echoed the Whisper.
“Give as the morning that flows out of heaven:
Give as the free air and sunshine are given.”