ll. Though we see her so cheerful;
with a pleasant smile for everyone; ready to oblige us all, and bearing
her part in every amusement here: she can hardly be quite happy, do you
think she can, Kate?'

'I am afraid not,' said the little girl.

'And you can understand,' pursued the lady, 'why her observation of
children who have parents who are fond of them, and proud of them--like
many here, just now--should make her sorrowful in secret?'

'Yes, dear aunt,' said the child, 'I understand that very well. Poor
Florence!'

More flowers strayed upon the ground, and those she yet held to her
breast trembled as if a wintry wind were rustling them.

'My Kate,' said the lady, whose voice was serious, but very calm and
sweet, and had so impressed Florence from the first moment of her
hearing it, 'of all the youthful people here, you are her natural and
harmless friend; you have not the innocent means, that happier children
have--'

'There are none happier, aunt!' exclaimed the child, who seemed to cling
about her.

'As other children have, dear Kate, of reminding her of her misfortune.
Therefore I would have you, when you try to be her little friend,
try all the more for that, and feel that the bereavement you
sustained--thank Heaven! before you knew its weight--gives you claim and
hold upon poor Florence.'

'But I am not without a parent's love, aunt, and I never have been,'
said the child, 'with you.'

'However that may be, my dear,' returned the lady, 'your misfortune is a
lighter one than Florence's; for not an orphan in the wide world can be
so deserted as the child who is an outcast from a living parent's love.'

The flowers were scattered on the ground like dust; the empty hands were
spread upon the face; and orphaned Florence, shrinking down upon the
ground, wept long and bitterly.

But true of heart and resolute in her good purpose, Florence held to it
as her dying mother held by her upon the day that gave Paul life. He did
not know how much she loved him. However long the time in coming, and
however slow the interval, she must try to bring that knowledge to her
father's heart one day or other. Meantime she must be careful in no
thoughtless word, or look, or burst of feeling awakened by any chance
circumstance, to complain against him, or to give occasion for these
whispers to his prejudice.

Even in the response she made the orphan child, to whom she was
attracted strongly, and whom she had such occasion