"'Pears like," said Uncle Moses, after one of these expeditions, "'pears like G.o.d must love posies, de way he scatter dem roun' dis yer land."

For all that Miss Josephine had been left at home, the little girls had not been obliged to live without a doll. Kind Aunt Maria had given them each one soon after their arrival. Out in the garden, then, with the dollies, Luce full of enthusiasm, and barking and rolling like an animated puff-ball, or else sitting up as straight as a judge, they were playing queen. Mabel had just fastened the wreath on Edith's head, when Johnnie very gravely observed,

"I think we are heartless wretches."

"Johnnie, where _do_ you learn those big words?"

"Well, we're having such nice times, and never thinking of poor mamma.

We ought to be miserable, if we had any feeling. I heard Aunt Chloe the other day say, 'Pore things, dey a'n't ole 'nuff to know what dey'd lose, if dey done lose dere mudder.'"

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Mabel's ready tears began to flow.

"O dear! O dear!" she sobbed, "mamma is going to die! What shall we do?"

"Hush, Mabel!" said Edith. "If we ought not to play, why we'll stop; but there isn't any use in crying so. Do please hush this instant."

A quick step came down the walk. The children, looking up, saw the young lady who lived in the next house. She had a sunbonnet on her head, and a light shawl was thrown around her, and in her hand was a pretty little bark canoe, in which was her knitting-work.

"O Miss Rose, beautiful Miss Rose!" exclaimed Edith, "you're the very person we wanted to see."

"Mith Rothe, when thith canoe geth too old for you, you'll give it to me, won't you?" said Mabel, putting her hands lovingly up towards the fanciful basket.

"Mabel," Johnny said in a tone of reproof, "how often has mamma told you never to ask for things in that way?"

"Never mind your little sister, Johnnie," the young lady said, "but sit down and let me hear why you were all looking so serious when I came up.

What lovely garlands you have made, and what a charming morning this is!

G.o.d is very good to give us so many bright days, and so much joy in them, isn't he?"

Before any one could reply, a servant came up, with a request that the children would go to their Aunt Maria on the porch, and hear a message from their mother.

"Good! good!" Johnnie said, clapping his hands; but Edith and Mabel went more soberly. Miss Rose seated herself in a favorite spot of hers, a rustic chair under the oak-tree, and waited their return. She was fond of children, and since the little visitors had been there, she had often gone in with her knitting to talk and play with them.

After they had heard the letter, they were dismissed by Mrs. MacLain, who had her key-basket on her arm, and was very busy with her housekeeping. They trooped back to their friend Miss Rose, and grouped themselves around her, and the little girls began to weave a wreath for her hair, while Johnnie made her a bouquet.

"The question is, Miss Rose, whether we ought to be happy while we are away from mamma and papa."

"And while mamma is sick."

"And perhaps might die."

Miss Rose put her work down on her lap, and with one soft hand smoothed away the thick curls that had a way of falling over and shading Johnnie's forehead and eyes. She thought to herself, "What a pretty boy he is! How n.o.ble and open and candid those eyes and that brow!" Johnnie was a very truthful little fellow, and though he had faults, he would have scorned to tell a lie or do anything mean. At this moment Charlie Hill, Aunt Chloe's boy, pa.s.sed by with his fishing-rod and line. So Johnnie could not stay to hear Miss Rose then. He caught up his straw hat, seized his shrimp-net, and ran off, without even saying, "Excuse me."

"That wath very imperlite," observed Mabel. "And Johnnie began asking the questions too! He ithn't very thad."

"Dear children," said Miss Rose, "you are only little and young, to be sure, but you may as well learn that G.o.d never wants you to _try_ to be miserable. He means you to be as merry and happy as you can be.

Consider a minute. Have you ever been very unhappy when you have been good?"

"No," said Edith.

"I have," said Mabel, "when I've had the teethache."

Miss Rose laughed.

"Well, that was a pretty good cause; but generally, when children are not naughty, they are happy. You would only vex your dear mamma, and make her feel badly, if you were moping and fretting here, where she sent you to be with your auntie. Then you would spoil auntie's pleasure if, instead of laughing and singing, you were crying and sitting in the corner. She would say, 'O dear, what queer children these are! I'll be glad when they're gone away.'"

"That would be dreadful! to have Aunt Maria think that," said Edith.

"But tell us your opinion about it."

"My opinion is, that it is every one's duty to be as cheerful as he can be all the time. If things vex us and trouble us, let us say, 'Never mind.' If it rains to-day, it will be clear to-morrow. If we pray to our Father, about everything, we will never need to be sorrowful long."

Then Miss Rose taught them a pretty little verse:

"Casting all your care upon Him, for He careth for you."

Kneeling that night by her little white bed, Edith said her prayers as usual, and then added another pet.i.tion:

"Dear Lord Jesus, make me happy every night and day, so that I shall love everybody, and everybody love me."

Edith was already one of those children whose lives are like "a little light, within the world to shine."

CHAPTER IV.

CHERRIES ARE RIPE.

Faster and faster flew the May days by, and all the world was beautiful.

The strawberries grew red and sweet upon the vines, and the children went out with the pickers to gather them, but they didn't work very steadily at this, for the sun was hot, and picking berries is apt to make the back ache. But the cherries most delighted them, and when Aunt Maria told them that they could have just as many cherries to eat as they wanted, and gave them one tree all to themselves, they hardly knew how to express their joy. It was not only in eating the cherries, that they had pleasure, for Aunt Maria let them have a tea-party, and said they might choose their guests.

"They don't know anybody but the Lesters and the Randolphs," she said complacently to Miss Rose.

"I shouldn't be a bit surprised if Edith and Johnnie invited a lot of little ragam.u.f.fins from Wood's Alley," replied Miss Rose.

Wood's Alley was one of those wretched neighborhoods, which in cities have a way of setting themselves down near rich people's doors. It was the short cut to Main street, and when the people near Aunt Maria's were in haste, they often took it, rather than go a long way round. The windows in Wood's Alley were broken and dingy, and the interiors--which means all you could see as you pa.s.sed by, looking at open doors--were dirty, smoky, and uninviting. Children fairly swarmed there, black and white, and as ragged as they could be. Mabel had made Aunt Maria very angry one day, by taking off her best hat, and giving it to a little beggar girl from Wood's Alley, who had been lingering near the gate, and casting admiring looks at it.

"She ought to have known better than to take it from you," Aunt Maria said. "She is nothing but a little thief, and you are a very improvident child. To-morrow I'll take you to church in your old hat."

This did not trouble Mabel much. Mabel did not yet care enough for her clothes, and more than once she had given her things away before. Her mother had been trying to teach her discretion in giving, for some time.

"Well, Rose," said Aunt Maria, "if I thought they would do that, I would tell them to have a picnic out-doors, for I don't want Wood's Alley in my dining-room. Those children are just as like their mother as they can be."

"Auntie," said Johnnie, "there's a splendid boy named Jim Cutts. He's been fishing with Charlie and me. Can he come to the party?"

"Jim Cutts!" echoed Mrs. MacLain with a sigh. Then she answered,