“Not he. Don Pedro is a very understanding person, you know. I told him what you said about selfish sentimentality and he was much struck with the phrase.”
“It was borrowed from Cousin Rindy; don’t give me the credit for it.”
“Sounds like her. Well, my dear, sometimes our sacrifices come back to us in the form of joys. One never knows what flower may spring from a chance seed. These are pretty dark days for you, but the spring is on its way.”
And truly the spring was bringing the flower of a happy surprise to Ellen, for one day, when she was gathering some sprays of forsythia with which to adorn the table, she saw Jeremy Todd limping up the street toward her, and by his side walked a girl whose face and form looked very familiar.
Ellen dropped her flowers on the grass and ran down to the gate to meet the two. “It is, it is Mabel Wickham!” she cried. “How do you happen to be in Marshville?”
“Ask Mr. Todd,” replied Mabel laughing. “I hope I have not come because of vain imaginings. May we come in and tell you all about it?”
“Indeed you may.” Ellen opened the gate. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you.”
“And I am overjoyed to see you, but I want to see your cousin, too. May I? Is she able to receive strangers? Can she leave her room?”
“She not only leaves her room but gets all over the house on crutches. She is the pluckiest thing ever, and scorns being an invalid. Come in and I will call her.”
“Such a dear, quaint little old house as it is; I just love little houses,” said Mabel enthusiastically as she entered the hall; but she laughed when Ellen tragically indicated the ornaments on the mantel and the pictures on the walls.