“Do you dare--” But ere she said more, the child had buried her head between her hands, and, by the convulsive motion of her shoulders, showed that she was sobbing bitterly. The mother continued her work, unmoved by this emotion. She took occasion, it is true, when lifting up the ball of worsted which had fallen, to glance furtively towards the child; but, except by this, bestowed no other notice on her. “Well,” cried the little girl, with a half-wild laugh, as she flung back her yellow hair, “Anderson says,-- “'On joy comes grief,--on mirth comes sorrow; We laugh to-day, that we may cry to-morrow.' And I believe one is just as pleasant as the other,--eh, mamma? _You_ ought to know.” “This is one of your naughty days, Clara, and I had hoped we had seen the last of them,” said her mother, in a grave but not severe tone. “The naughty days are much more like to see the last of _me_,” said the child, half aloud, and with a heavy sigh. “Clara,” said her mother, in the same calm, quiet voice, “I have made you my friend and my confidante at an age when any other had treated you with strict discipline and reserve. You have been taught to see life--as my sad experience revealed it to me, too--too late.” “And for me, too--too soon!” burst in the child, passionately. “Here 's poor Clara breaking her heart over her exercise,” burst in Sir William, as he came forward, and, stooping over the child, kissed her twice on the forehead. “Do let me have a favor to-day, and let this be a holiday.” “Oh, yes, by all means,” cried she, eagerly, clapping her hands. “The lizard can lie in the sun, and bask 'Mid the odor of fragrant herbs; Little knows he of a wearisome task, Or the French irregular verbs. “The cicala, too, in the long deep grass, All day sings happily, And I'd venture to swear He has never a care For the odious rule of three. “And as for the bee, And his industry--” “Oh, what a rhyme” laughed in Mrs. Morris. “Oh, let her go on,” cried Sir William. “Go on, Clara.” “And as for the bee, And his industry, I distrust his toilsome hours, For he roves up and down, Like a 'man upon town,' With a natural taste for flowers. There, mamma, no more,--not another the whole day long, I promise you,” cried she, as she threw her arms around her neck and kissed her affectionately. “Oh, these doggerel rhymes Are like nursery chimes, That sang us to sleep long ago. I declare I'm forgetting already; so I'll go and look for Charley, and help him to tie greendrakes, and the rest of them.” “What a strange child!” said Sir William, as he looked fondly after her as she fled across the lawn.