Richard did not come up to me, except to tell me I had better put my shawl on, as I sat on the steps of the boat-house, with Benny beside me.

The others had walked further on and were sitting, some of them on the rocks, and some on the boat that had been drawn up, watching the sun go down.
"Tell me a story," said Benny, resting his arms on my lap, "a story about when you were a little girl." "Oh, Benny, that wouldn't make a pretty story." "Oh, yes, it would: all about your mamma and the house you used to live in, and the children you used to go to see." "Dear Benny! I never lived in but one old, dismal house.

I never went to play with any children.

I could not make a story out of that." "But your mamma.

O yes, I'm sure you could if you tried very hard." "Ah, Benny! that's the worst of all.