everybody, and her thoughts about dying, and about becoming a nun.
Her mother held her hand very tight indeed when she reached this last
part of the confession. The idea of the wood, also, was terrible to
the poor lady. She declared that she shouldn't sleep a wink all night
for thinking about it.

"It wasn't a dangerous wood at all," explained Eyebright. "There
wasn't any thing there that could hurt me. Really there wasn't, mamma.
Nothing but trees, and stones, and ferns, and old tumbled-down trunks
covered with tiny-weeny mosses,--all green and brown and red, and some
perfectly white,--so pretty. I wish I had brought you some, mamma."

"Woods are never safe," declared Mrs. Bright, "what with snakes, and
tramps, and wildcats, and getting lost, and other dreadful things, I
hardly take up a paper without seeing something or other bad in it
which has happened in a wood. You must never go there alone again,
Eyebright. Promise me that you won't."

Eyebright promised. She petted and comforted her mother, kissing her
over and over again, as if to make up for the anxiety she had caused
her, and for the cross words and looks of the morning. The sad thing
is, that no one ever does make up. All the sweet words and kind acts
of a lifetime cannot undo the fact that once--one bad day far away
behind us--we were unkind and gave pain to some one whom we love. Even
their forgiveness cannot undo it. How I wish we could remember this
always before we say the words which we afterward are so sorry for,
and thus save our memories from the burden of a sad load of regret and
repentance!

When Eyebright went downstairs, she found a white napkin, her favorite
mug filled with milk, a plateful of bread and butter and cold lamb,
and a large pickled peach, awaiting her on the kitchen table. Wealthy
hovered about as she took her seat, and seemed to have a disposition
to pat Eyebright's shoulder a good deal, and to stroke her hair.
Wealthy, too, had undergone the repentance which follows wrath. Her
morning, I imagine, had been even more unpleasant than Eyebright's,
for she had spent it over a hot ironing table, and had not had the
refreshment of running away into the woods.

"It's so queer," said Eyebright, with her mouth full of bread and
butter. "I didn't know I was hungry a bit, but I am as hungry as can
be. Every thing tastes so good, Wealthy."

"That's right," replied Wealthy, who was a little upset, and tearful
still. "A good appetite's a