He too seemed out of sorts that hot afternoon, for he sat leaning his head on both hands at the desk strewn with piles of old letters.  Button-Rose’s tender heart yearned over him at once, and stepping quietly in at the long open window she went to him, saying in her tenderest tone,—­

“Does your head ache, sir?  Let me soft it as I do Papa’s; he says that always makes it more better.  Please let me?  I’d love to dearly.”

“Ah, my darling, I wish you could.  But the pain is in my heart, and nothing will ever cure it,” sighed Mr. Thomas, as he drew her close and put his wrinkled yellow cheek to her soft one, which looked more like a damask rose than usual.

“You have trials too, I s’pose.  Mine trouble me to-day, so I came over to see you.  Shall I go away?” asked Rosy with a sigh and the wistful look again.

“No, stay, and we will comfort each other.  Tell me your troubles, Button, and perhaps I can help them,” the kind old gentleman said as he took her on his knee and stroked the curly head with a paternal touch.

So Rosy told her latest grief, and never saw the smile that crept about the lips that asked in a tone of deep interest,—­

“Well, what do you mean to do to that unkind Cicely?”

“For a minute I wanted to slap her back when she tried to spat my hands.  Then I ’membered that Mamma said a kiss for a blow was a good thing, so I picked up the beads and planned to do it; but Cis looked so cross I couldn’t.  If I had a pretty necklace I’d go and give it to her, and then maybe she’d love me better.”

“My dear little missionary, you shall have beads to win the heart of your heathen, if that is all you need.  See here; take anything you like, and give it with the kiss.”

As he spoke, Mr. Dover pulled open a drawer in the desk and displayed a delightful collection of pretty, quaint, and curious trinkets picked up in foreign lands, and kept for keepsakes, since no little daughters of his own lived to wear them.

“How perf’ly dorgeous!” cried Rosy, who often fell into baby talk when excited; and plunging in her hands, she revelled for some minutes in sandal-wood cases, carved ivory fans, silver bangles, barbaric brooches, and necklaces of coral, shells, amber, and golden coins, that jingled musically.

“What shall I take for her?” cried the little maid, bewildered by such a mine of wealth.  “You pick out one, Mr. Thomas, that will please her so much, ’cause you never send her anything, and she don’t like it,” said Rosy, fearing that her own taste was not to be trusted, as she liked the shells and shark’s teeth ornaments best.

“No, I’ll give you one, and you shall do as you like about giving it to her.  This, now, is really valuable and pretty, and any young lady would like to wear it.  It makes me think of you, my Button, for it is like sunshine, and the word cut on the little heart means peace.”