May I not go?"
But Miss Greylston tightened her grasp on the young girl's hand.
"Annie, you do not know your uncle as well as I do. Such a step can
do no good,--love, you cannot help us."
"Only let me try," she returned, earnestly; "Uncle John loves me so
much, and on the first day of my visit, he will not refuse to hear
me. I will tell him all the sweet things you said about him. I will
tell him there is not one bit of anger in your heart, and that you
forgive and love him dearly. I am sure when he hears this he will be
glad. Any way, it will not make matters worse. Now, do have some
confidence in me. Indeed I am not so childish as I seem. I am turned
of sixteen now, and Richard and Sophy often say I have the heart of
a woman, even if I have the ways of a child. Let me go now, dear
Aunt Margaret; I will soon come back to you with such good news."
Miss Greylston stooped down and kissed Annie's brow solemnly,
tenderly. "Go, my darling, and may God be with you." Then she turned
away.
And with willing feet Annie Bermond went forth upon her blessed
errand. She soon found her uncle. He was sitting beneath the shade
of the old pines, and he seemed to be in very deep thought. Annie
got down on the grass beside him, and laid her soft cheek upon his
sunburnt hand. How gently he spoke--
"What did you come here for, sweet bird?"
"Because I love you so much, Uncle John; that is the reason; but
won't you tell me why you look so very sad and grave? I wish I knew
your thoughts just now.
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