"Does it always make you look so?"
"Not always--I am somewhat tired."
"Where is my father gone?"
"I don't know.--Rolf, dear," said Fleda bending forward to the little fellow who was giving expression to some very fidgety impatience,--"what is the matter? what do you want?"
The child's voice fell a little from its querulousness towards the sweet key in which the questions had been put, but he gave utterance to a very decided wish for "bread and butter."
"Come here," said Fleda, reaching out a hand and drawing him, certainly with no force but that of attraction, towards her easy-chair,--"come here and rest yourself in this nice place by me--see, there is plenty of room for you;--and you shall have bread and butter and tea, and something else too, I guess, just as soon as Barby can get it ready."
"Who is Barby?" was the next question, in a most uncompromising tone of voice.
"You saw the woman that came in to put wood on the fire--that was Barby--she is very good and kind and will do anything for you if you behave yourself."
The child muttered, but so low as to shew some unwillingness that his words should reach the ears that were nearest him, that "he wasn't going to behave himself."
Fleda did not choose to hear; and went on with composing observations till the fair little face she had drawn to her side was as bright as the sun and returned her smile with interest.