"'Blessed,' she says, 'think how glad he'd be to have you have some. He'd want you to eat it—wouldn't he?'
"The child nodded and took up his spoon, but he sighed some. 'I wish't he'd hurry,' he says, and ate, obedient.
"Robin looked up at us—I don't think a woman is ever so lovely as when she's sympathizing, and it don't make much difference what it's over, a sore finger or a sore heart, it's equally becoming.
"'I know,' she says to us, 'I know just the place where that hurts. I remember, when I was little, being in a house that a band passed, and because mother wasn't there, I ran inside and wouldn't listen. It's such a special kind of hurt....'
"From the end of the settle that was some in the shadow, Insley set watching her, and he looked as if he was thinking just what I was thinking: that she was the kind that would most always know just the place things hurt. And I bet she'd know what to do—and a thousand kinds of things that she'd go and do it.
"'O ...' Christopher says. 'I like this most next better than molasses candy, cutted in squares. I do, Robin!' He looked down at her, his spoon waiting. 'Is you that Robin Redbreast?' he inquired.
"'I'm any Robin you want me to be,' she told him. 'To-morrow we'll play that, shall we?'
"'Am I here to-morrow? Don't I have to walk to-morrow?' he ask' her.
"'No, you won't have to walk to-morrow,' she told him.
"Christopher leaned back, altogether nearer to luxury than I guess he'd ever been.