"You'll not let aunt Lucy, nor anybody else, take me away from you, will you, grandpa?" said she after a little, leaning both arms affectionately on his knee, and looking up into his face.
"No, indeed, dear!" said he, with an attempt at his usual heartiness, "not as long as I have a place to keep you. While I have a roof to put my head under, it shall cover yours."
To Fleda's hope that would have said enough; but her grandfather's face was so moved from its wonted expression of calm dignity, that it was plain his hope was tasting bitter things. Fleda watched in silent grief and amazement the watering eye and unnerved lip; till her grandfather, indignantly dashing away a tear or two, drew her close to his breast and kissed her. But she well guessed that the reason why he did not for a minute or two say anything, was because he could not. Neither could she. She was fighting with her woman's nature to keep it down, learning the lesson early!
"Ah well," said Mr. Ringgan at length, in a kind of tone that might indicate the giving up a struggle which he had no means of carrying on, or the endeavour to conceal it from the too keen-wrought feelings of his little grand-daughter, "there will be a way opened for us somehow. We must let our Heavenly Father take care of us."
"And he will, grandpa," whispered Fleda.
"Yes, dear! We are selfish creatures. Your father's and your mother's child will not be forgotten."
"Nor you either, dear grandpa," said the little girl, laying her soft cheek alongside of his, and speaking by dint of a great effort.
"No," said he, clasping her more tenderly, "no it would be wicked in me to doubt it. He has blessed me all my life long with a great many more blessings than I deserved; and if he chooses to take away the sunshine of my last days, I will bow my head to his will, and believe that he does all things well, though I cannot see it."
"Don't, dear grandpa," said Fleda, stealing her other arm round his neck and hiding her face there, "please don't!"
He very much regretted that he had said too much. He did not, however, know exactly how to mend it. He kissed her, and stroked her soft hair, but that and the manner of it only made it more difficult for Fleda to recover herself, which she was struggling to do; and when he tried to speak in accents of cheering, his voice trembled. Fleda's heart was breaking, but she felt that she was making matters worse, and she had already concluded, on a mature review of circumstances, that it was her duty to be cheerful. So, after a few very heartfelt tears which she could not help, she raised her head and smiled, even while she wiped the traces of them away.