ntaneous yielding to an impulse
that was too strong to be resisted.

But to her father there was something unnatural in it; he would have
preferred to have her frankly selfish, as most children are, not because
he thought it lovely, but because it was childish and natural. Her
unusual goodness gave him a pang more painful than ever the bad behavior
of her brothers had occasioned. On the other hand, it delighted him to
see her do anything that ordinary children did. He was charmed if she
could be induced to take part in a noisy romp, play tag, or dress her
dolls. But there followed usually after each outbreak of natural mirth a
shy withdrawal into herself, a resolute and quiet retirement, as if she,
were a trifle ashamed of her gayety. There was nothing morbid in these
moods, no brooding sadness or repentance, but a touching solemnity, a
serene, almost cheerful seriousness, which in one of her years seemed
strange.

Mr. Holt had many a struggle with himself as to how he should treat
Carina's delusion; and he made up his mind, at last, that it was his
duty to do everything in his power to dispel and counteract it. When he
happened to overhear her talking to her dolls one day, laying her hands
upon them, and curing them of imaginary diseases, he concluded it was
high time for him to act.

He called Carina to him, remonstrated kindly with her, and forbade her
henceforth to see the people who came to her for the purpose of
being cured. But it distressed him greatly to see how reluctantly she
consented to obey him.

When Carina awoke the morning after this promise had been extorted from
her, she heard the dogs barking furiously in the yard below. Her elder
sister, Agnes, was standing half dressed before the mirror, holding the
end of one blond braid between her teeth, while tying the other with
a pink ribbon. Seeing that Carina was awake, she gave her a nod in the
glass, and, removing her braid, observed that there evidently were sick
pilgrims under the window. She could sympathize with Sultan and Hector,
she averred, in their dislike of pilgrims.

"Oh, I wish they would not come!" sighed Carina. "It will be so hard for
me to send them away."

"I thought you liked curing people," exclaimed Agnes.

"I do, sister, but papa has made me promise never to do it again."

She arose and began to dress, her sister assisting her, chatting all the
while like a gay little chirruping bird that neither gets nor expects an
answer.