Joe, you are too bad! I won't tell any more."
"Yes, do!" entreated Hal. "And so he liked you on account of the resemblance, and wanted to adopt you."
"Exactly! Hal, how could you guess it?" returned Florence, much mollified. "And so he would take me to a beautiful house, where there were plenty of servants, and get me lovely clothes to wear; and there would be lots of china and silver and elegant furniture and a piano. I'd go to school, and study music and drawing, and never have to sew or do any kind of work. Then I'd send you nice presents home; and, when you were fixed up a little, you should come and see me. And maybe, Hal, as you grew older, he would help you about getting a hot-house. I think when I became a woman, I would take Dot to educate."
"I've heard of fairy godmothers before, but this seems to be a godfather. Here's luck to your old covey, Florrie, drunk in imaginary champagne."
"Joe, I wish you wouldn't use slang phrases, nor be so disrespectful."
"I'm afraid I'll have to keep clear of the palace."
"Oh, if it only could be!" sighed Hal. "I think Flo was meant for a lady."
Florence smiled inwardly at hearing this. It was her opinion also.
"Here, Kit, are you asleep?" And Joe pulled him out of the pile by one leg. "Wake up, and give us your heart's desire."
Kit indulged in a vigorous kick, which Joe dodged.
"It'll be splendid," began Kit, "especially the piano. I've had my hands over my eyes, making stars; and I was thinking" —
"That's just what we want, Chief of the Mohawk Valley. Don't keep us in suspense."
"I'm going to save up my money, like some one Hal was reading about the other day, and buy a fiddle."
A shout of laughter greeted this announcement, it sounded so comical.
Kit rubbed his eyes in amazement, and failed to see any thing amusing. Then he said indignantly, —
"You needn't make such a row!"
"But what will you do with a fiddle? You might tie a string to Charlie, and take her along for a monkey; or you might both go round singing in a squeaky voice, —
'Two orphan boys of Switzerland.'"
"You're real mean, Joe," said Kit, with his voice full of tears.
"Kit, I'll give you the violin myself when I get rich," Florence exclaimed in a comforting tone, her soft hand smoothing down the refractory scalp-lock; "but I would say violin, it sounds so much nicer. And then you'll play."
"Play!" enunciated Kit in a tone that I cannot describe, as if that were a weak word for the anticipated performance. "I'd make her talk! They'd sit there and listen, – a whole houseful of people it would be, you know; and when I first came out with my fiddle, – violin. I mean, – they would look at me as if they thought I couldn't do much. I'd begin with a slow sound, like the wind wailing on a winter night, – I guess I'd have it a storm, and a little lost child, for you can make almost any thing with a violin; and the cries should grow fainter and fainter, for she would be chilled and worn out; and presently it should drop down into the snow, and there'd be the softest, strangest music you ever heard. The crowd would listen and listen, and hold their breath; and when the storm cleared away, and the angels came down for the child, it would be so, so sad" – and there was an ominous falter in Kit's voice, "they couldn't help crying. There'd be an angel's song up in heaven; and in the sweetest part of it all, I'd go quietly away, for I wouldn't want any applause."
"But you'd have it," said Hal softly, reaching out for the small fingers that were to evoke such wonderful melody. "It almost makes me cry myself to think of it! and the poor little girl lost in the snow, not bigger than Dot here!"
"Children!" called Granny from the foot of the stairs, "ain't you going to come down and have any supper? I've made a great pot full of mush."
There was a general scrambling. Hal carried Dot in his arms, for she was fast asleep. Two or three times in the short journey he stopped to kiss the soft face, thinking of Kit's vision.
"Oh, we've been having such a splendid time!" announced Charlie. "All of us telling what we'd like to do; and, Granny, Joe's going to build you an elegant house!" with a great emphasis on the word, as Charlie was not much given to style, greatly to the sorrow and chagrin of Florence.
Granny gave a cheerful but cracked treble laugh, and asked, —
"What'll he build it of, my dear, – corn-cobs?"
"Oh, a real house! He's going to make lots of money, Joe is, and get shipwrecked."
Granny shook her head, which made the little white curls bob around oddly enough.
"How you do mix up things, Charlie," said Joe, giving her a poke with his elbow. "You're a perfect harum-scarum! I don't wonder you want to live in the woods. Go look at your head: it stands out nine ways for Sunday!"
Charlie ran her fingers through her hair, her usual manner of arranging it.
"Granny, here's this little lamb fast asleep. She's grown to be one of the best babies in the world;" and Hal kissed her again.
He had such a tender, girlish heart, that any thing weak or helpless always appealed to him. Their sleek, shining Tabby had been a poor, forlorn, broken-legged kitten when he found her; and there was no end to the birds and chickens that he nursed through accidents.
But for a fortnight Dot had been improving, it must be confessed, being exempt from disease and broken bones.
"Poor childie! Just lay her in the bed, Hal."
There was a huge steaming dish of mush in the middle of the table; and the hungry children went at it in a vigorous manner. Some had milk, and some had molasses; and they improvised a dessert by using a little butter, sugar, and nutmeg. They spiced their meal by recounting their imaginary adventures; but Granny was observed to wipe away a few tears over the shipwreck.
"It was all make believe," said Joe sturdily. "Lots of people go to sea, and don't get wrecked."
"But I don't want you to go," Granny returned in a broken tone of voice.
"Pooh!" exclaimed Joe, with immense disdain. "Don't people meet with accidents on the land? Wasn't Steve Holder killed in the mill. And if I was on the cars in a smash-up, I couldn't swim out of that!"
Joe took a long breath, fancying that he had established his point beyond a cavil.
"But sailors never make fortunes," went on Granny hesitatingly.
"Captains do, though; and it's a jolly life. Besides, we couldn't all stay in this little shanty, unless we made nests in the chimney like the swallows; and I don't know which would tumble down first, – we or the chimney."
Charlie laughed at the idea.
"I shall stay with you always, Granny," said Hal tenderly. "And Dot, you know, will be growing into a big girl and be company for us. We'll get along nicely, never fear."
Some tears dropped unwittingly into Granny's plate, and she didn't want any more supper. It was foolish, of course. She ought to be thankful to have them all out of the way and doing for themselves. Here she was, over fifty, and had worked
