“We have another sight at youth through our children’s eyes,” she answered, softly.
“I do believe it is true. That is why you keep your youth and freshness through all the—”
“Hard work and worries,” appended mamma, with a smile.
“I did not like to say quite that. The people of now-a-days seldom approve of such wholesome confessions.”
“But it is our business to set a good example, and not to be ashamed of the duties of that state of life unto which it pleases God to call us,” mamma returned.
“We get out of that safe fold sometimes, I am afraid; or, perhaps, we contract the ‘state,’ make it narrower than God meant it should be.”
What had happened to Miss Churchill? I glanced at her in shy amaze. She was gracious, elegant, and formal on most of the occasions when I had met her.
“Yes; we are rather prone to put up fences. And we never know how much pleasure we shut out along with the persons.”
“That is like my thought, too. I was going to tell you of my call at the Maynards. First, though, I must acknowledge that I was feeling a trifle down-hearted on Lucy’s account. I have my house-keeping, and gardening, and driving out with brother, and rarely get lonesome. But Lucy stays so much in her room, and Kenton is so fond of being in his study, that we may be said to lead almost separate lives. I was thinking it over as I came along. The servant ushered me into the shaded drawing-room, where the atmosphere was close and sultry with the odor of flowers. Then Mrs. Maynard sent for me to come to her room, where she was taking comfort in a dressing-sacque. She bewailed the loneliness and stupidity of the place, and thought of going to Saratoga. Then Etta Silverthorne called me into her room. She was lying on the bed reading a novel, and had the same story to tell. I asked for the young ladies, and found that Josephine wanted to see me particularly about a list of books. Would I come to her? Emily was copying one of Lucy’s paintings, and I must journey to her studio up-stairs. Then I had to make a call on grandmother, who was very lonesome, and glad to have a little talk with some one. The girls were so busy they could only run in a moment at a time; Mrs. Silverthorne was so fond of reading that she could not bear to be disturbed, and she hated to read aloud; Mrs. Maynard had the care of the house, of course. ‘And so I sit here alone pretty nearly all the time,’ said poor old grandmother.”
“And she is such a nice, enjoyable old lady, too!” mamma remarked.