t him "very bright and
stirring." Love would have said, "He is _so_ affectionate!" which his
father very much doubted. Lydia might possibly have called him a
"rogue," because he would spy out her doughnuts and pies, no matter
where she hid them away for safe keeping.

But I know very well how his _mother_ would have answered your question
about Willy. She would have said, "Don't talk of his faults; he is my
own little darling."

And then she would have opened her arms wide, and taken him right in:
that is the way it is with mothers.

Thus you see our Willy was not the same to everybody; and no child ever
is. To those who loved him he was "sweet as summer;" but not so to those
who loved him not.

I suspect Willy was rather contrarily made up; something like a mince
pie, perhaps. Let us see.

Short and crusty, now and then; rich, in good intentions; sweet, when he
had his own way; sour, when you crossed him; well-spiced, with bright
little speeches. All these qualities made up Willy's "points;" and you
know a mince pie is good for nothing without points.

Some people brought out one of these "points," and some another. Seth
expected him to be as sharp as cider vinegar; and so I am afraid he was,
whenever Seth corrected him. But his mother looked for sweet qualities
in her little darling, and was never disappointed.

Willy slept in the bedroom, in a trundle-bed which had held every one of
the children, from the oldest to the youngest. After he had said his
prayers, Mrs. Parlin tucked him up nice and warm, and even while she
stood looking at his rosy cheeks, with the rich fringes of his eyelids
resting on them, he often dropped off into dreamland. She had a way of
watching him in his sleep, and blessing him without any words, only
saying in her heart,--

"Dear God, let me keep this last precious treasure! But if that may not
be, O, lay it up for me in heaven."

Willy was afraid to go to bed alone, which is hardly to be wondered at;
for he had a strange and dreadful habit of walking in his sleep. Such
habits are not as common now as they were in old times, I believe.
Whether Willy's walks had anything to do with the cider and doughnuts,
which were sometimes given him in the evening, unknown to his mother, I
cannot say; but Mrs. Parlin was never sure, when she "tucked" him into
his trundle-bed, that he would spend the night there. Quite as likely he
would go wandering about the house; and one cold winter, when he w