After looking at
Magdalen for a little while with the quaintest gravity and attention,
the boy suddenly approached her, and opened the way to an acquaintance
by putting his toy composedly on her lap.
"Look at my ship," said the child, crossing his hands on Magdalen's
knee.
She was not usually patient with children. In happier days she would
not have met the boy's advance toward her as she met it now. The hard
despair in her eyes left them suddenly; her fast-closed lips parted and
trembled. She put the ship back into the child's hands and lifted him on
her lap.
"Will you give me a kiss?" she said, faintly. The boy looked at his ship
as if he would rather have kissed the ship.
She repeated the question--repeated it almost humbly. The child put his
hand up to her neck and kissed her.
"If I was your sister, would you love me?" All the misery of her
friendless position, all the wasted tenderness of her heart, poured from
her in those words.
"Would you love me?" she repeated, hiding her face on the bosom of the
child's frock.
"Yes," said the boy. "Look at my ship."
She looked at the ship through her gathering tears.
"What do you call it?" she asked, trying ha rd to find her way even to
the interest of a child.
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