"Me vely much obliged."
And at that moment the clouds broke away and the tardy sun came out. A ray of light shone over Mrs. Gray's face,—partly sunshine from the sky, and partly an inner sunshine from her happy heart. She was a good mother, and nothing gave her so much joy as to see her children rise above selfishness and sincerely strive to do right.
Kittyleen went home after dinner, loaded with toys. Flaxie was the one to fasten her cloak and tippet, and lead her by the hand to the front door; but not a word did she say to Martha about the "murder" of her waxen child. Not a word did any one say about it; and Mrs. Garland would never have heard of Kittyleen's mischief if the little one had not told of it herself.
Mr. Garland was quite disturbed, but his wife was too busy painting to pay much attention.
"My dear," said he, "Mary Gray is an uncommon little girl to bear what she does from Kittyleen. Suppose, as a reward for her patience, you send her a handsome present at Christmas."
"Very well," replied Mrs. Garland, serenely, "I'll send her a piece of the china I'm painting."
"No, no, she won't care anything about that. Buy her something really pretty," said Mr. Garland, who had no true love for the fine arts, and secretly wished his wife's paint-tubes and brushes were sunk in the sea.
"Oh, well, you may buy her something yourself! I don't want to bother my head about it," said Mrs. Garland, drawing a rim of gold around a teacup.