Sophy’s first impulse was to hide her face, but he thought it was bo-peep, caught hold of her fingers, and laughed; then came to a sudden surprised stop, and looked up to his mother, when the countenance behind the screen proved sad instead of laughing.

‘Ah! baby, you had better have done with me,’ Sophy said, bitterly; ’you are the only one that does not hate me yet, and you don’t know what I have done to you.’

‘I know some one else that cares for you, my poor Sophy,’ said Albinia, ’and who would do anything to make you feel it without distressing you.  If you knew how I wish I knew what to do for you!’

‘It is no use,’ said Sophy, moodily; ’I was born to be a misery to myself and every one else.’

‘What has put such a fancy in your head, my dear?’ said Albinia, nearly smiling.

’Grandmamma’s Betty said so, she used to call me Peter Grievous, and I know it is so.  It is of no good to bother yourself about me.  It can’t be helped, and there’s an end of it.’

‘There is not an end of it, indeed!’ cried Albinia.  ’Why, Sophy, do you suppose I could bear to leave you so?’

‘I’m sure I don’t see why not.’

‘Why not?’ continued Albinia, in her bright, tender voice.  ’Why, because I must love you with all my heart.  You are your own dear papa’s child, and this little man’s sister.  Yes, and you are yourself, my poor, sad, lonely child, who does not know how to bring out the thoughts that prey on her, and who thinks it very hard to have a stranger instead of her own mother.  I know I should have felt so.’

‘But I have behaved so ill to you,’ cried Sophy, as if bent on repelling the proffered affection.  ’I would not like you, and I did not like you.  Never! and I have gone against you every way I could.’

‘And now I love you because you are sorry for it.’

’I’m not’—­Sophy had begun, but the words turned into ‘Am I?’

‘I think you are,’ and with the sweetest of tearful smiles, she put an arm round the no longer resisting Sophy, and laying her cheek against the little brother’s, she kissed first one and then the other.

‘I can’t think why you are so,’ said Sophy, still struggling against the undeserved love, though far more feebly.  ’I shall never deserve it.’

‘See if you don’t, when we pull together instead of contrary ways.’

‘But,’ cried Sophy, with a sudden start from her, as if remembering a mortal offence, ‘you drained the pond!’

’I own I earnestly wished it to be drained; but had you any reason for regretting it, my dear?’

‘Ah! you did not know,’ said Sophy.  ’He and I used to be always there.’

‘He—?’

‘Why, will you make me say it?’ cried Sophy.  ’Edmund!  I mean Edmund!  We always called it his pond.  He made the little quay for his boats—­he used to catch the minnows there.  I could go and stand by it, and think he was coming out to play; and now you have had it dried up, and his dear little minnows are all dead,’ and she burst into a passion of tears, that made Maurice cry till Albinia hastily carried him off and returned.