The ancient heroes were illustrious,
For being benign, and not blustrous.
--HUDIBRAS.
The next day it happened that the young people were amusing themselves
with talking in a room where John Humphreys, walking up and down, was
amusing _himself_ with thinking. In the course of his walk, he began to
find their amusement rather disturbing to his. The children were all
grouped closely around Margaret Dunscombe, who was entertaining them
with a long and very detailed account of a wedding and great party at
Randolph which she had had the happiness of attending. Eagerly fighting
her battles over again, and pleased with the rapt attention of her
hearers, the speaker forgot herself, and raised her voice much more than
she meant to do. As every turn of his walk brought John near, there came
to his ears sufficient bits and scraps of Margaret's story to give him a
very fair sample of the whole; and he was sorry to see Ellen among the
rest, and as the rest, hanging upon her lips and drinking in what seemed
to him to be very poor nonsense. "Her gown was all blue satin, trimmed
here--and so--you know, with the most _exquisite_ lace, as deep as
that--and on the shoulders and here--you know, it was looped up with the
most lovely bunches of"--here John lost the sense. When he came near
again she had got upon a different topic--"'Miss Simmons,' says I, 'what
did you do that for?' 'Why,' says she, 'how could I help it? I saw Mr.
Payne coming, and I thought I'd get behind you, and so----.'" The next
time the speaker was saying with great animation, "And lo, and behold,
when I was in the midst of all my pleasure, up comes a little gentleman
of about his dimensions----." He had not taken many turns when he saw
that Margaret's nonsense was branching out right and left into worse
than nonsense.
"Ellen," said he suddenly, "I want you in the library."
"My conscience!" said Margaret as he left the room, "King John the
Second, and no less."
"Don't go on till I come back," said Ellen. "I won't be three minutes.
Just wait for me."
She found John seated at one of the tables in the library, sharpening a
pencil.
"Ellen," said he, in his usual manner, "I want you to do something for
me."
She waited eagerly to hear what, but instead of telling her he took a
piece of drawing-paper and began to sketch something. Ellen stood by,
wondering and impatient, to the last degree; not caring, however, to
show her impatience, though her very feet were twitching to run back to
her companions.
"Ellen," said John, as he finished the old stump of a tree with one
branch left on it, and a little bit of ground at the bottom, "did you
ever try your hand at drawing?"
"No," said Ellen.
"Then sit down here," said he, rising from his chair, "and let me see
what you can make of that."
"But I don't know how," said Ellen.
"I will teach you. There is a piece of paper, and this pencil is sharp
enough. Is that chair too low for you?"
He placed another, and with extreme unwillingness and some displeasure
Ellen sat down. It was on her tongue to ask if another time would not
do, but somehow she could not get the words out. John showed her how to
hold her pencil, how to place her paper, where to begin, and how to go
on; and then went to the other end of the room and took up his walk
again. Ellen at first felt more inclined to drive her pencil _through_
the paper than to make quiet marks upon it. However necessity was upon
her. She began her work, and once fairly begun, it grew delightfully
interesting. Her vexation went off entirely; she forgot Margaret and her
story; the wrinkles on the old trunk smoothed those on her brow, and
those troublesome leaves at the branch end brushed away all thoughts of
everything else. Her cheeks were burning with intense interest, when the
library door burst open and the whole troop of children rushed in; they
wanted Ellen for a round game in which all their number were needed; and
she must come directly.
"I can't come just yet," said she; "I must finish this first."
"Afterwards will just do as well," said George; "come, Ellen, do! you
can finish it afterwards."
"No, I can't," said Ellen; "I can't leave it till it's done. Why, I
thought Mr. John was here! I didn't see him go out. I'll come in a
little while."
"Did _he_ set you about that precious piece of business?" said William.
"Yes."
"I declare," said Margaret, "he's fitter to be the Grand Turk than any
one else I know of."
"I'll tell you," said William, putting his mouth close to her ear, and
speaking in a disagreeable loud whisper, "it's the biggest gobbler in
the yard."
"Ain't you ashamed, William?" cried little Ellen Chauncey.
"That's it exactly," said Margaret; "always strutting about."
"He isn't a bit," said Ellen, very angry; "I've seen people a great deal
more like gobblers than he is."
"Well," said William, reddening in his turn, "I had rather, at any rate,
be a good turkey gobbler than one of those outlandish birds that have an
appetite for stones and glass and bits of morocco, and such things.
Come, let us leave her to do the Grand Turk's bidding. Come, Ellen
Chauncey, you mustn't stay to interrupt her; we want you!"
They left her alone. Ellen had coloured, but William's words did not hit
very sore. Since John's talk with her about the matter referred to she
had thought of it humbly and wisely; it is only pride that makes such
fault-finding very hard to bear. She was very sorry, however, that they
had fallen out again, and that her own passion, as she feared, had been
the cause. A few tears had to be wiped away before she could see exactly
how the old tree stood; then, taking up her pencil, she soon forgot
everything in her work. It was finished, and with head now on one side,
now on the other, she was looking at her picture with very great
satisfaction, when her eye caught the figure of John standing before
her.
"Is it done?" said he.
"It is done," said Ellen, smiling, as she rose up to let him come. He
sat down to look at it.
"It is very well," he said; "better than I expected. It is very well
indeed. Is this your _first_ trial, Ellen?"
"Yes, the first."
"You found it pleasant work?"
"Oh, very! very pleasant. I like it dearly."
"Then I will teach you. This shows you have a taste for it, and that is
precisely what I wanted to find out. I will give you an easier copy next
time. I rather expected when you sat down," said he, smiling a little,
"that the old tree would grow a good deal more crooked under your hands
than I meant it to be."
Ellen blushed exceedingly. "I do believe, Mr. John," she said,
stammering, "that you know everything I am thinking about."
"I might do that, Ellen, without being as wise as an oracle. But I do
not expect to make any very painful discoveries in that line," answered
John Humphreys.
Ellen thought, if he did not, it would not be her fault. She truly
repented her momentary anger and hasty speech to William. Not that he
did not deserve it, or that it was not true; but it was unwise, and had
done mischief, and "it was not a bit like peacemaking, nor meek at all,"
Ellen said to herself. She had been reading that morning the fifth
chapter of Matthew, and it ran in her head, "Blessed are the meek;"
"Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of
God." She strove to get back a pleasant feeling toward her young
companions, and prayed that she might not be angry at anything they
should say. She was tried again at tea-time.
Miss Sophia had quitted the table, bidding William hand the dough-nuts to
those who could not reach them. Marianne took a great while to make her
choice. Her brother grew impatient.
"Well, I hope you have suited yourself," said he. "Come, Miss
Montgomery, don't you be as long; my arm is tired. Shut your eyes, and
then you'll be sure to get the biggest one in the basket."
"No, Ellen," said John, who none of the children thought was near, "it
would be ungenerous; I wouldn't deprive Master William of his best
arguments."
"What do you mean by my arguments?" said William sharply.
"Generally, those which are the most difficult to take in," answered his
tormentor, with perfect gravity.
Ellen tried to keep from smiling, but could not; and others of the party
did not try. William and his sister were enraged, the more because John
had said nothing they could take hold of, or even repeat. Gilbert made
common cause with them.
"I wish I was grown up for once," said William.
"Will you fight _me_, sir?" asked Gilbert, who was a matter of three
years older, and well grown enough.
His question received no answer, and was repeated.
"No, sir."
"Why not, sir?"
"I am afraid you'd lay me up with a sprained ankle," said John, "and I
should not get back to Doncaster as quickly as I must."
"It is very mean of him," said Gilbert, as John walked away; "I could
whip him, I know."
"Who's that?" said Mr. Howard Marshman.
"John Humphreys."
"John Humphreys! You had better not meddle with him, my dear fellow. It
would be no particular proof of wisdom."
"Why, he's no such great affair," said Gilbert; "he is tall enough, to
be sure, but I don't believe he is heavier than I am."
"You don't know, in the first place, how to judge of the size of a
perfectly well-made man; and in the second place, _I_ was not a match
for him a year ago; so you may judge. I do not know precisely," he went
on to the lady he was walking with, "what it takes to rouse John
Humphreys, but when he _is_ roused, he seems to me to have strength
enough for twice his bone and muscle. I have seen him do curious things
once or twice!"
"That quiet Mr. Humphreys?"
"Humph!" said Mr. Howard; "gunpowder is pretty quiet stuff so long as it
keeps cool."
The next day another matter happened to disturb Ellen. Margaret had
received an elegant pair of ear-rings as a Christmas present, and was
showing them for the admiration of her young friends. Ellen's did not
satisfy her.
"Ain't they splendid?" said she. "Tell the truth now, Ellen Montgomery,
wouldn't you give a great deal if somebody would send you such a pair?"
"They are very pretty," said Ellen, "but I don't think I care much for
such things; I would rather have the money."
"Oh, you avaricious! Mr. Marshman!" cried Margaret, as the old gentleman
was just then passing through the room, "here's Ellen Montgomery says
she'd rather have money than anything else for _her_ present."
He did not seem to hear her, and went out without making any reply.
"O Margaret!" said Ellen, shocked and distressed, "how could you! how
could you! What will Mr. Marshman think?"
Margaret answered she didn't care what he thought. Ellen could only hope
he had not heard.
But a day or two after, when neither Ellen nor her friends were present,
Mr. Marshman asked who it was that had told him Ellen Montgomery would
like money better than anything else for her New Year's present.
"It was I, sir," said Margaret.
"It sounds very unlike her to say so," remarked Mrs. Chauncey.
"Did she say so?" inquired Mr. Marshman.
"I understood her so," said Margaret; "I understood her to say she
wouldn't care for anything else."
"I am disappointed in her," said the old gentleman; "I wouldn't have
believed it."
"I do not believe it," said Mrs. Chauncey quietly; "there has been some
mistake."
It was hard for Ellen now to keep to what she thought right.
Disagreeable feelings would rise when she remembered the impoliteness,
the half-sneer, the whole taunt, and the real unkindness of several of
the young party. She found herself ready to be irritated, inclined to
dislike the sight of those, even wishing to visit some sort of
punishment upon them. But Christian principle had taken strong hold in
little Ellen's heart; she fought her evil tempers manfully. It was not
an easy battle to gain. Ellen found that resentment and pride had roots
deep enough to keep her pulling up the shoots for a good while. She used
to get alone when she could, to read a verse, if no more, of her Bible,
and pray; she could forgive William and Margaret more easily then.
Solitude and darkness saw many a prayer and tear of hers that week. As
she struggled thus to get rid of sin, and to be more like what would
please God, she grew humble and happy. Never was such a struggle carried
on by faith in Him without success. And after a time, though a twinge of
the old feeling might come, it was very slight; she would bid William
and Margaret good-morning, and join them in any enterprise of pleasure
or business, with a brow as unclouded as the sun. They, however, were
too conscious of having behaved unbecomingly towards their little
strange guest to be over fond of her company. For the most part she and
Ellen Chauncey were left to each other.
Meanwhile the famous needle-book was in a fair way to be finished. Great
dismay had at first been excited in the breast of the intended giver by
the discovery that Gilbert had consulted what seemed to be a very
extraordinary fancy, in making the rose a yellow one. Ellen did her best
to comfort her. She asked Alice, and found there were such things as
yellow roses, and they were very beautiful too; and, besides, it would
match so nicely the yellow butterfly on the other leaf.
"I had rather it wouldn't match!" said Ellen Chauncey; "and it don't
match the rose-coloured silk besides. Are the yellow roses sweet?"
"No," said Ellen; "but _this_ couldn't have been a sweet rose at any
rate, you know."
"Oh, but," said the other, bursting out into a fresh passion of
inconsolable tears, "I wanted it should be the _picture_ of a sweet
rose! And I think he might have put a purple butterfly; yellow
butterflies are so common! I had a great deal rather had a purple
butterfly and a red rose!"
What cannot be cured, however, must be endured. The tears were dried in
course of time, and the needle-book with its yellow pictures and pink
edges was very neatly finished. Ellen had been busy too on her own
account. Alice had got a piece of fine linen for her from Miss Sophia;
the collar for Mr. Van Brunt had been cut out, and Ellen with great
pleasure had made it. The stitching, the strings, and the very
button-holes, after infinite pains, were all finished by Thursday night.
She had also made a needle-case for Alice, not of so much pretension as
the other one; this was green morocco lined with crimson satin; no
leaves, but ribbon stitched in to hold papers of needles, and a place
for a bodkin. Ellen worked very hard at this; it was made with the
extremest care, and made beautifully. Ellen Chauncey admired it very
much, and anew lamented the uncouth variety of colours in her own. It
was a grave question whether pink or yellow ribbon should be used for
the latter; Ellen Montgomery recommended pink, she herself inclined to
yellow; and tired of doubting, at last resolved to split the difference,
and put one string of each colour. Ellen thought that did not mend
matters, but wisely kept her thoughts to herself. Besides the
needle-case for Alice, she had snatched the time whenever she could get
away from Ellen Chauncey to work at something for her. She had begged
Alice's advice and help; and between them, out of Ellen's scraps of
morocco and silk, they had manufactured a little bag of all the colours
of the rainbow, and very pretty and tasteful withal. Ellen thought it a
_chef-d'[oe]uvre_, and was unbounded in her admiration. It lay folded up
in white paper in a locked drawer ready for New Year's day. In addition
to all these pieces of business, John had begun to give her drawing
lessons, according to his promise. These became Ellen's delight. She
would willingly have spent much more time upon them than he would allow
her. It was the most loved employment of the day. Her teacher's skill
was not greater than the perfect gentleness and kindness with which he
taught. Ellen thought of Mr. Howard's speech about gunpowder; she could
not understand it.
"What is your conclusion on the whole?" asked John one day, as he stood
beside her mending a pencil.
"Why," said Ellen, laughing and blushing, "how _could_ you guess what I
was thinking about, Mr. John?"
"Not very difficult when you are eyeing me so hard."
"I was thinking," said Ellen; "I don't know whether it is right in me to
tell it, because somebody said you----"
"Well?"
"Were like gunpowder."
"Very kind of somebody! And so you have been in doubt of an explosion?"
"No; I don't know; I wondered what he meant."
"Never believe what you hear said of people, Ellen; judge for yourself.
Look here; that house has suffered from a severe gale of wind, I should
think; all the uprights are slanting off to the right; can't you set it
up straight?"
Ellen laughed at the tumble-down condition of the house as thus pointed
out to her, and set about reforming it.
It was Thursday afternoon that Alice and Ellen were left alone in the
library, several of the family having been called out to receive some
visitors; Alice had excused herself, and Ellen, as soon as they were
gone, nestled up to her side.
"How pleasant it is to be alone together, dear Alice! I don't have you
even at night now."
"It is very pleasant, dear Ellie! Home will not look disagreeable again,
will it? even after all our gaiety here."
"No, indeed! at least _your_ home won't; I don't know what mine will. Oh
me! I had almost forgotten Aunt Fortune!"
"Never mind, dear Ellie! You and I have each something to bear; we must
be brave and bear it manfully. There is a Friend that sticketh closer
than a brother, you know. We shan't be unhappy if we do our duty and
love Him."
"How soon is Mr. John going away?"
"Not for all next week. And so long as he stays, I do not mean that you
shall leave me."
Ellen cried for joy.
"I can manage it with Miss Fortune, I know," said Alice. "These fine
drawing lessons must not be interrupted. John is very much pleased with
your performances."
"Is he?" said Ellen, delighted; "I have taken all the pains I could."
"That is the sure way to success, Ellie. But, Ellie, I want to ask you
about something. What was that you said to Margaret Dunscombe about
wanting money for a New Year's present?"
"You know it, then!" cried Ellen, starting up. "Oh, I am so glad! I
wanted to speak to you about it so, I didn't know what to do, and I
thought I oughtn't to. What shall I do about it, dear Alice? How did you
know? George said you were not there."
"Mrs. Chauncey told me; she thought there had been some mistake, or
something wrong; how was it, Ellen?"
"Why," said Ellen, "she was showing us her ear-rings, and asking us what
we thought of them, and she asked me if I wouldn't like to have such a
pair; and I thought I would a great deal rather have the money they
cost, to buy other things with, you know, that I would like better; and
I said so; and just then Mr. Marshman came in, and she called out to
him, loud, that I wanted money for a present, or would like it better
than anything else, or something like that. O Alice, how I felt! I was
frightened; but then I hoped Mr. Marshman did not hear her, for he did
not say anything; but the next day George told me all about what she had
been saying in there, and oh, it made me so unhappy!" said poor Ellen,
looking very dismal. "What _will_ Mr. Marshman think of me? he will
think I expected a present, and I never _dreamed_ of such a thing; it
makes me ashamed to speak of it, even; and I _can't bear_ he should
think so; I can't bear it. What shall I do, dear Alice?"
"I don't know what you can do, dear Ellie, but be patient. Mr. Marshman
will not think anything very hard of you, I dare say."
"But I think he does already; he hasn't kissed me since that as he did
before; I know he does, and I don't know what to do. How could Margaret
say that! oh, how could she! it was very unkind. What can I do?" said
Ellen again, after a pause, and wiping away a few tears. "Couldn't Mrs.
Chauncey tell Mr. Marshman not to give me anything, for that I never
expected it, and would a great deal rather not?"
"Why, no, Ellie, I do not think that would be exactly the best or most
dignified way."
"What, then, dear Alice? I'll do just as you say."
"I would just remain quiet."
"But Ellen says the things are all put on the plates in the morning; and
if there should be money on mine--I don't know what I should do, I
should feel so badly. I couldn't keep it, Alice!--I couldn't!"
"Very well--you need not!--but remain quiet in the meanwhile; and if it
should be so, then say what you please, only take care that you say it
in a right spirit and in a right manner. Nobody can hurt you much, my
child, while you keep the even path of duty; poor Margaret is her own
worst enemy."
"Then if there should be money in the morning, I may tell Mr. Marshman
the truth about it?"
"Certainly--only do not be in haste; speak gently."
"Oh, I wish everybody would be kind and pleasant always!" said poor
Ellen, but half comforted.
"What a sigh was there!" said John, coming in. "What is the matter with
my little sister?"
"Some of the minor trials of life, John," said Alice, with a smile.
"What is the matter, Ellie?"
"Oh, something you can't help," said Ellen.
"And something I mustn't know. Well, to change the scene--suppose you go
with me to visit the greenhouse and hothouses. Have you seen them yet?"
"No," said Ellen, as she eagerly sprang forward to take his hand;
"Ellen promised to go with me, but we have been so busy."
"Will you come, Alice?"
"Not I," said Alice, "I wish I could, but I shall be wanted elsewhere."
"By whom, I wonder, so much as by me," said her brother. "However, after
to-morrow I will have you all to myself."
As he and Ellen were crossing the hall they met Mrs. Marshman.
"Where are you going, John?" said she.
"Where I ought to have been before, ma'am--to pay my respects to Mr.
Hutchinson."
"You've not seen him yet? that is very ungrateful of you. Hutchinson is
one of your warmest friends and admirers. There are few people he
mentions with so much respect, or that he is so glad to see, as Mr. John
Humphreys."
"A distinction I owe, I fear, principally to my English blood," said
John, shaking his head.
"It is not altogether that," said Mrs. Marshman, laughing; "though I do
believe I am the only Yankee good Hutchinson has ever made up his mind
entirely to like. But go and see him, do, he will be very much pleased."
"Who is Mr. Hutchinson?" said Ellen, as they went on.
"He is the gardener, or rather the head-gardener. He came out with his
master some thirty or forty years ago, but his old English prejudice
will go to the grave with him, I believe."
"But why don't he like the Americans?"
John laughed. "It would never do for me to attempt to answer that
question, Ellie, fond of going to the bottom of things as you are. We
should just get to hard fighting about tea-time, and should barely make
peace by mid-day to-morrow at the most moderate calculation. You shall
have an answer to your question, however."
Ellen could not conceive what he meant, but resolved to wait for his
promised answer.
As they entered the large and beautifully-kept greenhouse, Hutchinson
came from the farther end of it to meet them--an old man of most
respectable appearance. He bowed very civilly, and then slipped his
priming-knife into his left hand to leave the right at liberty for John,
who shook it cordially.
"And why 'aven't you been to see me before, Mr. John? I have thought it
rather 'ard of you; Miss h'Alice has come several times."
"The ladies have more leisure, Mr. Hutchinson. You look flourishing
here."
"Why, yes, sir, pretty middling within doors; but I don't like the
climate, Mr. John, I don't like the climate, sir. There's no country
like h'England, I believe, for my business. 'Ere's a fine rose, sir--if
you'll step a bit this way--quite a new kind--I got it over last
h'autumn--the Palmerston it is. Those are fine buds, sir."
The old man was evidently much pleased to see his visitor, and presently
plunged him deep into English politics, for which he seemed to have lost
no interest by forty years' life in America. As Ellen could not
understand what they were talking about, she quitted John's side, and
went wandering about by herself. From the moment the sweet aromatic
smell of the plants had greeted her she had been in a high state of
delight; and now, lost to all the world beside, from the mystery of one
beautiful and strange green thing to another, she went wandering and
admiring, and now and then timidly advancing her nose to see if
something glorious was something sweet too. She could hardly leave a
superb cactus, in the petals of which there was such a singular blending
of scarlet and crimson as almost to dazzle her sight; and if the
pleasure of smell could intoxicate she would have _reeled_ away from a
luxuriant daphne odorata in full flower, over which she feasted for a
long time. The variety of green leaves alone was a marvel to her; some
rough and brown-streaked, some shining as if they were varnished, others
of hair-like delicacy of structure--all lovely. At last she stood still
with admiration and almost held her breath before a white camellia.
"What does that flower make you think of, Ellen?" said John, coming up;
his friend the gardener had left him to seek a newspaper in which he
wished to show him a paragraph.
"I don't know," said Ellen--"I couldn't think of anything but itself."
"It reminds me of what I ought to be--and of what I shall be if I ever
see heaven; it seems to me the emblem of a sinless pure spirit, looking
up in fearless spotlessness. Do you remember what was said to the old
Church of Sardis? 'Thou hast a few names that have not defiled their
garments; and they shall walk with me in white, for they are worthy.'"
The tears rushed to Ellen's eyes, she felt she was so very unlike this;
but Mr. Hutchinson coming back prevented anything more from being said.
She looked at the white camellia; it seemed to speak to her.
"That's the paragraph, sir," said the old gardener, giving the paper to
John. "'Ere's a little lady that is fond of flowers, if I don't make a
mistake; this is somebody I've not seen before. Is this the little lady
Miss h'Ellen was telling me about?"
"I presume so," said John; "she is Miss Ellen Montgomery, a sister of
mine, Mr. Hutchinson, and Mr. Marshman's guest."
"By both names h'entitled to my greatest respect," said the old man,
stepping back and making a very low bow to Ellen, with his hand upon his
heart, at which she could not help laughing. "I am very glad to see Miss
h'Ellen. What can I do to make her remember old 'Utchinson? Would Miss
h'Ellen like a bouquet?"
Ellen did not venture to say yes, but her blush and sparkling eyes
answered him. The old gardener understood her, and was as good as his
word. He began with cutting a beautiful sprig of a large purple
geranium, then a slip of lemon myrtle. Ellen watched him as the bunch
grew in his hand, and could hardly believe her eyes as one beauty after
another was added to what became a most elegant bouquet. And most sweet
too; to her joy the delicious daphne and fragrant lemon blossom went to
make part of it. Her thanks, when it was given her, were made with few
words but with all her face; the old gardener smiled, and was quite
satisfied that his gift was not thrown away. He afterwards showed them
his hothouses, where Ellen was astonished and very much interested to
see ripe oranges and lemons in abundance, and pines too, such as she had
been eating since she came to Ventnor, thinking nothing less than that
they grew so near home. The grapes had all been cut.
There was to be quite a party at Ventnor in the evening of New Year's
day. Ellen knew this, and destined her precious flowers for Alice's
adornment. How to keep them in the meanwhile? She consulted Mr. John,
and, according to his advice, took them to Mrs. Bland, the housekeeper,
to be put in water and kept in a safe place for her till the time. She
knew Mrs. Bland, for Ellen Chauncey and she had often gone to her room
to work where none of the children would find and trouble them. Mrs.
Bland promised to take famous care of the flowers, and said she would do
it with the greatest pleasure. Mr. Marshman's guests, she added
smilingly, must have everything they wanted.
"What does that mean, Mrs. Bland?" said Ellen.
"Why, you see, Miss Ellen, there's a deal of company always coming, and
some is Mrs. Gillespie's friends, and some Mr. Howard's, and some to see
Miss Sophia more particularly, and some belong to Mrs. Marshman, or the
whole family maybe; but now and then _Mr_. Marshman has an old English
friend or so, that he sets the greatest store by; and them he calls
_his_ guests, and the best in the house is hardly good enough for them,
or the country either."
"And so I am one of Mr. Marshman's guests!" said Ellen; "I didn't know
what it meant."
She saved but one little piece of rose-geranium from her flowers, for
the gratification of her own nose, and skipped away through the hall to
rejoin her companions, very light-hearted indeed.