I could have
hugged Boy, who lay curled on the hearth, deep in the adventures of Mowgli
and the Wolf Brethren. I did hug little Joy, who climbed into my lap,
lisping, as she does every night: "Thing, Cothin Nelly."
I looked shyly at Mr. Hynes, who had stooped to pat the cat that purred
against his leg, muttering something about a "fine animal." I knew--I
begin to understand him so well--just how he felt the charm of everything.
"Thing," Joy insisted, putting up a baby hand until it touched my cheek
and twined itself in my hair, "Thing, Cothin Nelly." And I crooned while
breathlessly all in the room listened:--
"Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the Western sea--
"He'll be a bad man, won't he, Joy," I broke off, as John came to my
corner, "if he scolds a poor girl who has had to stand on the floor all
day for the scholars to look at, and get no good mark on her deportment
card?"
"I am no longer a schoolmaster, Nelly," said John so icily that Aunt
looked up at him, surprised. "Come, Joy," she said, "Cousin Nelly can't
be troubled with a great big girl. Why, Mr. Burke, she's cried herself
ill, fairly, over those dreadful newspapers.
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