"I never liked black," she replied evasively. "And, anyhow, it would do no good," she added somewhat mournfully, as if the former reason struck her on the instant as being an insufficient one.
"No, child, it wouldn't do any good," said Mr. Condy, tenderly and with emotion. "And if you don't care about having it, don't take it."
Mrs. Condy laid the proffered dress aside, and Ellen again bent silently over her work. The hearts of all present were touched by her simple and true remark, "that it would do no good," and each one respected her the more, that she shunned all exterior manifestation of the real sorrow that they knew oppressed her spirits. And never did they array themselves in their sombre weeds, that the thought of Ellen's unobtrusive grief did not come up and chide them.
IF THAT WERE MY CHILD!
"AH, good evening, Mr. Pelby! Good evening, Mr. Manly! I am glad to see you! Mrs. Little and I were just saying that we wished some friends would step in."
"Well, how do you do this evening, Mrs. Little?" said Mr. Pelby, after they were all seated. "You look remarkably well. And how is your little family?"
"We are all bright and hearty," Mrs. Little replied, smiling. "Little Tommy has just gone off to bed. If you had come in a few minutes sooner, you would have seen the dear little fellow. He's as lively and playful as a cricket."
"How old is he now?" asked Mr. Manly.
"He will be two years and six months old the twenty-third of next month."