Be Courteous | Page 5

blighted thing going out to steal fragrance from other flowers."
"Well, darling," said Dora, "you can have it without theft, for we can make for ourselves a garden of spices anywhere, and then you know who will come in and eat our pleasant fruit."
Emma smiled, and nodded a good-by, as she left the room.
"What a singular girl is Emma," said one of the young ladies who looked from the keeping-room window, as she entered the wagon. "I was glad that they had the courtesy to offer her a cushioned seat; but she has refused it, and is riding off upon a box. Dear Mrs. Lindsay, Emma is excessively polite."
"Mysteriously polite, I call it," said Mrs. Lindsay. "She seems more and more to lose sight of herself, in a desire to make others happy; yet before we left the city she often offended me by her disregard of fashionable etiquette."
"Yet Emma never was offensive in her manners, mamma," said Martha.
"She was truly beloved, I know it, dear," replied the lady; "but her great truthfulness kept me in constant jeopardy. Just think of her telling Madam Richards that people considered her too old to dance."
"Well, it was a shame," answered the first speaker, "for a lady of such excellent qualities to make herself ridiculous by a single foible."
"So Emma thought," said Mrs. Lindsay, "and had the frankness to tell her so. It turned out well enough in her case, it is true; for she told me when I went to apologize, that Emma had shown so much heartfelt interest and concern in the matter of her being a public laughing-stock, that she was obliged not only to forgive, but to love her the better for what I called a rudeness. But," continued Mrs. Lindsay, "singular as she is, I would give worlds to have her----"
Here the lady paused, and Martha said quickly, "She is better, mother. She sleeps very well now, and her night-sweats are not so profuse."
The mother made no answer. It was not because Martha's hopeful words were unheeded, but because mournful memories were at work in her heart; and to avoid further conversation she arose and left the room.
"Mamma will look upon the dark side," said Martha, "but I am much encouraged. Our physician says, that rambling about in the country, running in the fields and woods, climbing fences and trees, if she is disposed, will do wonders for Emma: and I believe it; for how wonderfully she has improved during these three months--so full of life, and so full of interest in everybody."
Emma had refused the cushioned seat, because she saw at a glance that the young boy occupying that seat was more feeble than herself. The name of this little boy was Edwin. Emma had met him frequently in the woods, and down by the brook where he went to fish. They had thus become pretty well acquainted, and from him Emma had learned the name of the pretty girl who sat in the pew in front of their own at church--the little girl who wore a black ribbon upon her bonnet, and whose manner in the house of prayer was both quiet and devout. Edwin had told her that the name of this pretty girl was Mary Palmer; that just before their family came to Appledale she had lost a little sister; and that since then, though very quiet and kind before, Mary had been very patient, even with Fanny Brighton. Emma, therefore, was not wholly unprepared for the off-hand greeting bestowed upon her that morning by Fanny. On first getting into the wagon, she pressed Mary's hand without waiting for the ceremony of an introduction, for she knew her name. Mary loved to have Emma so near her; for though they had never spoken together before, a mutual affection existed between them; but the modest girl felt that Henry ought to have given Emma a seat beside some one who knew more than herself.
"Fanny Brighton," thought Mary, "is so amusing when she chooses to be; Alice More is so witty; and the Misses Sliver so learned, Henry ought to have seen that Emma was where she would be pleasantly entertained; but I will make amends for this when we get to the plain--I will introduce her, and leave her with them."
Emma, however, seemed well satisfied with her company. "I have long wanted to speak with you," said she.
"That is very polite," thought Mary; "I suppose it is what well-bred people generally say. I have really wanted to hear her speak, though I won't say so, for she will think that I am only trying to be polite."
Emma took off her sun-bonnet when riding through the woods, and told Mary how happy it made her to hear the birds sing, and to breathe the sweet fragrance which