Do you wonder he smiled?
He had bright black eyes, red cheeks, and a rich, dark skin. He was a handsome little creature; but when he was tanned, his brother Stephen called him a "Pawnee Indian," which was a heavy joke, and sank deeper into Willy's tender soul than Stephen suspected.
After he had viewed himself in the mirror, dressed in his new suit, he ran to his best comforter, his mother, and said, with a quivering lip,—
His mother caught him to her breast and hugged him, brown fur hat and all, and told him he mustn't mind Steenie's jokes; he was not an Indian, and Molly Molasses—the squaw who came around with baskets to sell—would never carry him off.
He was three years old at this time, and so full of high spirits and health, that he was rather a troublesome child to manage. Mrs. Parlin sometimes remarked, with a sigh and a smile,—
"I don't know what I shall do with our Willy!"
If she had said, "I don't know what I should do without him," it would have been nearer the truth; for never did mother dote more on a child. He was the youngest, and two little children next older—a son and a daughter—had been called to their heavenly home before he was born. People said Mrs. Parlin was in a fair way to spoil Willy, and her husband was so afraid of it, that he felt it his duty to be very stern with the boy.
Seth, the oldest son, helped his father in this, and seemed to be constantly watching to see what Willy would do that was wrong.
Stephen, two years younger than Seth, was not so severe, and hardly ever scolded, but had a very "hectoring disposition," and loved dearly to tease his little brother.