'And you can understand,' pursued the lady, 'why her observation of children who have parents who are fond of them, and proud of them - like many here, just now - should make her sorrowful in secret?'
'Yes, dear aunt,' said the child, 'I understand that very well. Poor Florence!'
More flowers strayed upon the ground, and those she yet held to her breast trembled as if a wintry wind were rustling them.
'My Kate,' said the lady, whose voice was serious, but very calm and sweet, and had so impressed Florence from the first moment of her hearing it, 'of all the youthful people here, you are her natural and harmless friend; you have not the innocent means, that happier children have - '
'There are none happier, aunt!' exclaimed the child, who seemed to cling about her.
'As other children have, dear Kate, of reminding her of her misfortune. Therefore I would have you, when you try to be her little friend, try all the more for that, and feel that the bereavement you sustained - thank Heaven! before you knew its weight- gives you claim and hold upon poor Florence.'
'But I am not without a parent's love, aunt, and I never have been,' said the child, 'with you.'
'However that may be, my dear,' returned the lady, 'your misfortune is a lighter one than Florence's; for not an orphan in the wide world can be so deserted as the child who is an outcast from a living parent's love.'