“I can’t help it,” muttered she:  “it’s the way I was made, and the way I shall die, I expect.  I know I’m mean and hateful, and not half as good as she; but—­Oh! it’s too bad, too bad!-it’s cruel, and I can’t bear it!  Mother loved me,—­yes, she loved me best of every thing; and that hateful Pic killed her:  whose fault was that but Dora’s?  Then Charlie-what does he care for me beside her? and, and—­ Well, perhaps Mr. Brown never would have noticed me at any rate; but, while she’s round, he has no eyes for any one else.  Even the child, and the cats, and the dog, and the horses, every living thing, loves her better than me; and now he’s coming to court her right before my eyes!  I wish I was dead!  I wish I’d never been born!  I’m not fit to live!”

She then threw herself again upon the ground, pressing her burning forehead against the cool moss, and grasping handfuls of the leaves rustling about her, while she wailed again and again,—­

“I’m not fit to live,—­not fit to live!  Oh, I wish I was dead this minute!  O God! if you love me any better than the rest, let me die, let me die this minute; for I am not fit to live.”

“Then you cannot be fit to die, my child,” said a voice above her; and, starting up, Kitty found herself confronted by a tall, fine-looking man, of about thirty years of age; his handsome face just now wearing an expression of sorrowful sternness as he fixed his eyes upon Kitty’s, which fell before them.

“Mr. Brown!” stammered she.

“Yes, Kitty:  my journey has been more rapid than I could have expected; and I arrived at Greenfield about an hour ago.  Finding you so near, I took a horse, and came out here to-night.  You did not hear me approach; and, when I saw you through the trees, I dismounted, and came to ask you what was the matter.  I heard only your last words, and perhaps I should not have noticed them; yet, as a friend of you and yours, I will say again, Kitty, he who is not fit to live should feel himself most unfit to die, which is but to live with all the passions that made life unendurable made ours forever.”

“Do you think so?  If I should die now, should I feel just as badly when I came to in the other world?” asked Kitty with at startled look.

Mr. Brown smiled, as he answered,—­

“I cannot think, Kitty, that your remorse or your sorrows can be as deep as you fancy.  Perhaps they are only trifling vexations connected with outside matters, not rising from real wrong within.  But you won’t want to hear a sermon before I even reach the house:  so come and show me the way there, and tell me how you all are.”

“Dora is very well,” said Kitty, so crisply, that Mr. Brown glanced at her sharply, and walked on in silence.  Presently he said,—­

“You must not think, Kitty, that I mean to treat your troubles lightly, whatever they may be.  Think about them a little longer by yourself; and in a day or two, if they still seem as unendurable, perhaps it will relieve you to talk to me as plainly as you choose.  I shall be very glad to help you if I can, Kitty; very glad and willing.  You must look upon me as another brother.”