Best of all was his sister Viola. He almost worshipped her; and it was a long time before he could bring himself to treat her with any familiarity. When she caressed him, which was often,—for she loved him dearly, and he was a lovable boy,—he always kissed her hands. One day she shook her head at this, and said,—
“Nino, that is not the way; kiss me good;” and she turned her face, with its rosy mouth, towards him.
With reverence, as if he was saluting a queen, Nino leaned towards her, and then with a sudden impulse, caught her in his arms, and kissed her heartily. That was the seal of their affection, and from that time Nino assumed all a brother’s pride, care, and tenderness. After he had recovered, they were constantly together, and their mother was never so content as when Nino had the charge of Viola. He never spared himself to serve her, and she was ever an impulse to goodness and truth, shining before him like a star, as she had from the first time he saw her. And she clung to him with the same love she had first felt, proud of her brother, who developed a noble character; and they all learned to thank the accident which had brought them so happily together.
Sara Conant.
COMMON THINGS.
THE sunshine is a glorious thing,
That comes alike to all,
Lighting the peasant’s lowly cot,
The noble’s painted hall.
The moonlight is a gentle thing;
It through the window gleams
Upon the snowy pillow where
The happy infant dreams;
It shines upon the fisher’s boat
Out on the lovely sea,
Or where the little lambkins lie
Beneath the old oak tree.
The dewdrops on the summer morn
Sparkle upon the grass;
The village children brush them off,
That through the meadows pass.