“Who’ll do it, dear?”

“I will.”

She obeyed him, as perhaps she would have done for no one else.  Rising up, Winthrop carried his sleeping sister without wakening her, and laid her on the bed in her own little room, which opened out of the kitchen; then he came back and went to work in the fireplace.  Karen yielded it to him with equal admiration and unwillingness; remarking to herself as her relieved hands went about other business, that, “for sure, nobody could build a fire handsomer than Mr. Winthrop”; —­ and that “he was his mother’s own son, and deserved to be!”

CHAPTER XXV.

That thee is sent receive in buxomness;
The wrestling of this worlde askith a fall;
Here is no home, here is but wildernesse,
Forthe, pilgrim, forthe, o best out of thy stall,
Loke up on high, and thanke thy God of all. 
CHAUCER.

As soon as she was awake Winnie sought her brother’s side again; and from that moment never left it when it was possible to be there.  In his arms, if she could; close by his side, if nearer might not be; she seemed to have no freedom of life but in his shadow.  Her very grief was quieted there; either taking its tone from his calm strength, or binding itself with her own love for him.  Her brother was the sturdy tree round which this poor little vine threw its tendrils, and climbed and flourished, all it could.

He had but a few days to spend at Shahweetah now.  Towards the end of them, she was one evening sitting, as usual, on his knee; silent and quiet.  They were alone.

“Winnie,” said her brother, “what shall I do with you?”

She put her arms round his neck and kissed him, —­ a very frequent caress; but she made no answer.

“Shall I take you to Mannahatta with me?”

“Oh yes, Winthrop!”

It was said with breathless eagerness.

“I am almost afraid to do it.”

“Why, Winthrop?”

“Hush —­” he said gently; for her words came out with a sort of impatient hastiness; —­ “You don’t know what kind of a place it is, Winnie.  It isn’t much like what home used to be.”

“Nor this aint, neither,” she murmured, nestling her head in his bosom.

“But you wouldn’t have the free air and country —­ I am afraid it wouldn’t be so good for you.”

“Yes it would —­ it would be better for me. —­ I can’t hardly be good at all, Governor, except where you are.  I get cross now-a-days —­ it seems I can’t help it —­ and I didn’t use to do so —­”

How gently the hand that was not round her was laid upon her cheek, as if at once forbidding and soothing her sorrow.  For it was true, —­ Winnie’s disease had wrought to make her irritable and fretful, very different from her former self.  And it was true that Winthrop’s presence governed it, as no other thing could.

“Would you rather go with me, Winnie?”