Then Barby said she thought they’d have talked
the house down; and she expected there’d be
nothing left of Fleda after all the kissing she got.
But it was not too much for Fleda’s pleasure.
Mrs. Evelyn was so tenderly kind, and Miss Evelyn
as caressing as her sister had been, and Edith, who
was but a child, so joyously delighted, that Fleda’s
eyes were swimming in happiness as she looked from
one to the other, and she could hardly answer kisses
and questions fast enough.
“Them is good-looking enough girls,” said
Barby as Fleda came back to the house after seeing
them to their carriage,—“if they knowed
how to dress themselves. I never see this fly
away one ’afore—I knowed the old one
as soon as I clapped my eyes onto her. Be they
stopping at the Pool again?”
“Yes.”
“Well when are you going up there to see ’em?”
“I don’t know,” said Fleda quietly.
And then sighing as the thought of her aunt came into
her head she went off to find her and bring her down.
Fleda’s brow was sobered, and her spirits were
in a flutter that was not all of happiness and that
threatened not to settle down quietly. But as
she went slowly up the stairs faith’s hand was
laid, even as her own grasped the balusters, on the
promise,
“All the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth
unto such as keep his covenant and his testimonies.”
She set faith’s foot down on those sure stepping-stones;
and she opened her aunt’s door and looked in
with a face that was neither troubled nor afraid.
Ant. He misses not much.
Seb. No; he doth but mistake
the truth totally.
Tempest.
It was the very next morning that several ladies and
gentlemen were gathered on the piazza of the hotel
at Montepoole, to brace minds or appetites with the
sweet mountain air while waiting for breakfast.
As they stood there a young countryman came by bearing
on his hip a large basket of fruit and vegetables.
“O look at those lovely strawberries!”
exclaimed Constance Evelyn running down the steps.—“Stop
if you please—where are you going with these?”
“Marm!” responded the somewhat startled
carrier.
“What are you going to do with them?”
“I ain’t going to do nothin’ with
’em.”
“Whose are they? Are they for sale?”
“Well, ’twon’t deu no harm, as I
know,” said the young man making a virtue of
necessity, for the fingers of Constance were already
hovering over the dainty little leaf-strewn baskets
and her eyes complacently searching for the most promising;—“I
ha’n’t got nothin’ to deu with ’em.”
“Constance!” said Mrs. Evelyn from the
piazza,—“don’t take that!
I dare say they are for Mr. Sweet.”
“Well, mamma!—” said Constance
with great equanimity,—“Mr. Sweet
gets them for me, and I only save him the trouble
of spoiling them. My taste leads me to prefer
the simplicity of primitive arrangements this morning.”
