ght to every one else, and laid her
wet cheek against the little, scarred, red face. The motion was so
gentle that it scarcely stirred the yellow tendrils of his soft hair.
An infinite tenderness was born out of her anguish. There was left
her a merciful moment to be a mother in. Bobby forgot his pain in the
bliss of it.

"Why, why, this is very nice!" he murmured, happily. "I never knew
it would be as nice as this--I never knew! But I'm glad it's
dark,--aren't you? I'd rather it would--be----dark."

And then it grew altogether dark for Bobby, and the little face
against the new-born, heart-broken mother's cheek felt cold, and
would not warm with all her passionate kisses.

Chapter V

The Little Girl Who Should Have Been a Boy

There was so much time for the Little Girl who should have been a
Boy to ponder over it. She was only seven, but she grew quite skilful
in pondering. After lessons--and lessons were over at eleven--there
was the whole of the rest of the day to wander, in her little,
desolate way, in the gardens. She liked the fruit-garden best, and
the Golden Pippin tree was her choicest pondering-place. There was
never any one there with her. The Little Girl who should have been a
Boy was always alone.

"You see how it is. I've told you times enough," she communed with
herself, in her quaint, unchildish fashion. "You are a mistake. You
went and was born a Girl, when they wanted a Boy--oh, my, how they
wanted a Boy! But the moment they saw you they knew it was all up
with them. You wasn't wicked, really,--I _guess_ it wasn't wicked;
sometimes I can't be certain,--but you did go and make such a silly
mistake! Look at me,--why didn't you know how much they wanted a Boy
and _didn't_ want you? Why didn't you be brave and go up to the Head
Angel, and say, 'Send me to another place; for pity sake don't send
me _there_. They want a Little Boy.' Why didn't you--oh, why didn't
you? It would have saved such a lot of trouble!"

The Little Girl who should have been a Boy always sighed at that
point. The sigh made a period to the sad little speech, for after
that she always sat in the long grass under the Golden Pippin tree
and rocked herself back and forth silently. There was no use in
saying anything more after that. It had all been said.

It was a great, beautiful estate, to east and west and north and
south of her, and the Boy the Head Angel should have sent instead of
the sad Little Girl was to have in