Things look as if
everybody was satisfied; but, though he never alludes to it, I know
Fee's heart is sore over his disappointment,--you see, he is my own
twin, and, while I love all my brothers and sisters, Felix is more dear
to me than any one else in the whole wide world, and I understand him
better than anybody else does.
Fee is not like the rest of us; in the first place, he is more delicate,
and his lameness makes him very sensitive. Then, too, though we all,
from Phil to Alan, confide in him our troubles and pleasures, he rarely,
if ever, opens his heart to any of us. And when we talk things over
among ourselves, and so in a way help one another along, Fee keeps his
deepest feelings to himself. Very often we children talk of dear mamma,
particularly when we're together in the firelight Sunday afternoons and
evenings,--it's a comfort to us; but Felix simply listens,--he never
speaks of her, though he was mother's boy. But I know, all the same,
that he misses her every day of his life, and that as long as he
lives he'll never forget one tone of her voice, or one word she
has said to him.
Fee used to have a dreadful temper; he'd say such cutting, sarcastic
things! and when mamma would speak to him about it, he'd declare that he
_couldn't_ help it, and that the sharp ugly words _would_ come.
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