It was too much for the good
old soul; she died on the journey.
[Sidenote: Hepsie's misdeed led, when she understood it, to a bold act
which had very gratifying results.]
Hepsie's Christmas Visit
BY
MAUD MADDICK
"I say, little mother," said Hepsie, as she tucked her hand under Mrs.
Erldon's arm, and hurried her along the snowy path from the old church
door, "I say--I've been thinking what a jolly and dear old world this
is, and if only the people in it were a little bit nicer, why, there
wouldn't be a thing to grumble at, would there?"
Mrs. Erldon turned her rather sad, but sweet face towards her little
daughter, and smiled at her.
Somehow folks often _did_ smile at Hepsie. She was such a breezy brisk
sort of child, and had a way of looking at life in general that was
distinctly interesting.
"Of course, dearie," she went on, in that protecting little manner
Hepsie loved to adopt when talking to her beloved mother, "you can't
imagine I am thinking of people like you. If every one were half--no--a
quarter as delightful as _you_, the world would be charming. Oh dear no,
I am not flattering at all, I am just speaking the truth; but there
aren't many of your kind about, as I find out more and more every day."
"My dearest of little girls," interrupted her mother, as they turned
into Sunnycoombe Lane, where the snow lay crisply shining, and the trees
were flecked with that dainty tracing of frozen white, "you look at me
through glasses of love, and _they_ have a knack of painting a person as
fair as you wish that one to be.
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