Anna was not crying now about her aunt's constant fault-finding; there was something in her grief more bitter even than the tears she shed for her mother; it seemed to the girl that day by day she was becoming more and more clumsy and stupid; she broke the crockery, and even the furniture; she spoiled her frocks; and, worst of all, she had more than once met her father's kind blue eyes fixed on her with a look of sadness that went to her heart. Did he, too, think that she would never be useful to herself or to any one?
At this thought her tears came more freely, and she pressed her hot face against the tree.
"I wonder why I was made!" she sobbed.
There came a sharp crackling sound, as the twigs and pine-needles snapped under a heavy tread.
Anna caught up her white apron and vigorously rubbed her eyes; then she hurried out to the path from her shelter among the trees.
In another minute her arms were round her father, and she was kissing him on both cheeks.
A Startling Face
George Fasch kissed her and patted her shoulder; then a suppressed sob caught his ear. He held Anna away from him, and looked at her face.
It was red and green in streaks, and her eyes were red and inflamed. The father was startled by her appearance.
"What is the matter, dear child?" he said. "You are ill."