You have not been much, have you ?" asked Miss Celia, anxious to help the boy, and not quite sure how to begin.
"No, 'm; our folks didn't hardly ever go, and father was so tired he used to rest Sundays, or go off in the woods with me." A little quaver came into Ben's voice as he spoke, and a sudden motion made his hat-brim hide his eyes, for the thought of the happy times that would never come any more was almost too much for him.
"That was a pleasant way to rest.

I often do so, and we will go to the grove this afternoon and try it.

But I have to go to church in the morning; it seems to start me right for the week; and if one has a sorrow that is the place where one can always find comfort.

Will you come and try it, Ben, dear ?" "I'd do any thing to please you," muttered Ben, without looking up; for, though he felt her kindness to the bottom of his heart, he did wish that no one would talk about father for a little while; it was so hard to keep from crying, and he hated to be a baby.
Miss Celia seemed to understand, for the next thing she said, in a very cheerful tone, was, "See what a pretty sight that is.

When I was a little girl I used to think spiders spun cloth for the fairies, and spread it on the grass to bleach." Ben stopped digging a hole in the ground with his toe, and looked up, to see a lovely cobweb like a wheel, circle within circle, spun across a corner of the arch over the gate.