"I dare say it is," said Hugh; "I am sure it is worth more than that. Dear Fleda, I like it so much!"
Fleda gave him such a smile of grateful affection!--not at all as if she deserved his praise but as if it was very pleasant to have.
"What put it into your head? anything in particular?"
"No--nothing--I was looking out of the window one day and seeing the willow tree blow; and that looked over my shoulder; as you know Hans Andersen says his stories did."
"It is just like you!--exactly as it can be."
"Things put themselves in my head," said Fleda, tucking another splinter into the fire. "Isn't this better than a chandelier?"
"Ten times!"
"And so much pleasanter for having got it ourselves. What a nice time we had, Hugh?"
"Very. Now for the portfolio, Fleda--come!--mother is fast; she won't see or hear anything. What does father say, mother?"
In answer to this they had the letter read, which indeed contained nothing remarkable beyond its strong expressions of affection to each one of the little family; a cordial which Mrs. Rossitur drank and grew strong upon in the very act of reading. It is pity the medicine of kind words is not more used in the world--it has so much power. Then, having folded up her treasure and talked a little while about it, Mrs. Rossitur caught up the Magazine like a person who had been famished in that kind; and soon she and it and her tallow candle formed a trio apart from all the world again. Fleda and Hugh were safe to pass most mysterious-looking little papers from hand to hand right before her, though they had the care to read them behind newspapers, and exchanges of thought and feeling went on more swiftly still, and softly, across the fire.