The expression on my companion's face changed suddenly. He had worn a
half amused, half sympathetic look all along, as if my little troubles
were something he could afford to smile upon, and persuade even myself
to laugh at, but I fancy my voice must have been unusually sorrowful,
as I am sure my face was unusually tear-stained and disfigured, for he
drew me to him a little closer and toying ever so affectionately and
kindly with my flowing hair, his tone was gently remonstrative as he
said:
"Amey, do you know that you use very wicked words when you talk like
this? You are a very comfortable and fortunate little girl in many
ways, and because something disagreeable happens now and then you must
not be so impatient and want to die. If you did die now" he continued
slowly and emphatically--then paused and added, "maybe you would be
sorry."
"I don't care" came from me in a half defiant retort, "I couldn't be
sorrier than I am now. I am not comfortable and I am not fortunate,
and disagreeable things are always happening, and if I can't die
soon," I went on waxing quite tragic, "I'll run away."
I stopped short after this, thinking I had put a splendid
finishing-touch to my out-spoken determination. I do not know whether
I expected Mr. Dalton to faint with fright and surprise on hearing
such a daring declaration from me. If I did, I must have been sadly
disappointed when I detected a shadow of that hovering smile flitting
back across his features, and heard him ask in a provoking tone.
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