"You should try not to mind a little remark, dear; it is difficult to repress everything, isn't it?" "I should, if I had the management," said Ada. "Would you?" said Nellie, smiling a little; "but here's your letter, Ada." "Who's it from?" asked Ada ungraciously, holding out her hand, however, for it. "From Christina." "I declare!" said Ada, reading and brightening up. "She has asked me for a fortnight to Sunnyside, and Tom, too. Can he go, Nellie?" "I think so, if papa says he can; but it will be a great charge for you." "But then there will be Christina, and she understands Tom so well." "She does; but you will have to be very patient with him, Ada. It will do him a great deal of good, or it might be harm. He misses mamma more than you think." "We none of us know what each other feel," said Ada; "that's the way with people living in the same house." "But love and sympathy help us to understand, Ada," answered Nellie. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XXVI. CONCLUSION. FOUR years after the events recorded in the last chapter, two young ladies were sitting in a sunny room at Shanklin, looking out on to the sea. On the knees of the elder of the two lay an infant, and over it bent a fond, lovely face, not altered but improved by its motherliness. By the side of the other, stood a little roundabout of two years old, gazing up in her face, as she told her a history of a brightly coloured picture. Her mother glanced at the group with a sweet, tender look. "Kind Auntie Nellie," she observed. "Tind auntie!" responded the little creature, patting Nellie's hand. "How she gets on, Christina," said Auntie Nellie, looking up; "I never heard a child talk so plainly." "That is because I always speak to her so distinctly." "I believe it is," answered Nellie, smiling. Then, turning to a little maiden of about six years old, who stood looking out of the window, she added: "Come, Alice, would you not like to see these pictures too?" The child turned and came close, putting her arm affectionately round little Eleanor. "And so," said Nellie, continuing her story, "God gives us just what He sees the very best for us. See, that man is handing his little child a great heavy stone; and that one, in contrast, is giving his child a nice piece of bread." "Yes," said Alice; "but I don't like that other father; he doesn't look kind." "No; it is just to teach us the lesson how unkind we should think it in our father; and God is better than any earthly father." "And He's always thinking about being kind," said Alice, with kindling eyes. "Don't you remember last week, when I was poorly, and couldn't eat any nice things or fruit for ever so long, how He sent me—told someone to send me—that tiny, tiny little text-book?" "Yes, darling; I thought so when it came." "So did I," said Alice, nodding, "because He's so kind."