“No, I don’t want the violets, I want you back;” and the little thin arms were thrown round her neck, and the child’s lips pressed to her cheek.
“O Tommy! I wish I were a grand lady!—I wish I had plenty of money! Shouldn’t you have meat enough, and all kinds of food, to make you strong and hearty again!”
“And new shoes!” suggested the child.
“And a blazing fire, and—”
“Hush, my children!” said the mother gently, “and don’t let your thoughts go running after what God Almighty has not seen good to give us. We’ve a-many blessings in this little cot of ours, and I always say that the three prime ones, sunshine for the eyes, hope for the heart, and love in the home, are as free to the poor as to the rich.”
The sharp, cutting cold of a March wind, which drove the icy sleet against her face, did not tend to make little Jenny share her mother’s spirit of contentment. She hastened up the long hill, holding her bonnet to keep it on, and wishing that she had some better protection against the blast than her thin cloak or her mother’s thread-bare shawl. She was to call at the house of a milliner, for whom she was accustomed to run errands and to do little pieces of plain work, in order to carry a parcel from her to a lady who lived at the Hall about three miles distant.
JENNY IN THE STORM.
Jenny arrived at the milliner’s, her cheeks glowing with exercise and the cold.
“Take a seat by the fire, and warm yourself, Jenny; I’ve just a stitch more to put to this trimming, and the dress will be ready for you to take to Lady Grange in two minutes.”