“No! no! no!” cried little Em’ly, sobbing, and shaking her head. “I am not as good a girl as I ought to be. Not near! not near!” And still she cried, as if her heart would break.

“I try your love too much. I know I do!” she sobbed. “I’m often cross to you, and changeable with you, when I ought to be far different. You are never so to me. Why am I ever so to you, when I should think of nothing but how to be grateful, and to make you happy!”

“You always make me so,” said Ham, “my dear! I am happy in the sight of you. I am happy, all day long, in the thoughts of you.”

“Ah! that’s not enough!” she cried. “That is because you are good; not because I am! Oh, my dear, it might have been a better fortune for you, if you had been fond of someone else⁠—of someone steadier and much worthier than me, who was all bound up in you, and never vain and changeable like me!”

“Poor little tender-heart,” said Ham, in a low voice. “Martha has overset her, altogether.”