She found this young person in her garden, for it was high time to think of future flowers. Betsy, on her knees, was planting seeds. “Have you most finished?” asked Elizabeth.
“Yes, I have only the rest of this paper to put in. These are all zinnias in this bed. They make such a show and don’t require any attention. Have you made a garden yet, Elizabeth?”
“A sort of one, but I have weightier subjects to consider than gardens just now.”
Betsy got up, brushed the earth from her hands, and picked up her trowel. “What?” she asked concisely.
But Elizabeth’s thoughts had flown ahead of her remark. “Which would you rather, that aunt Eunice liked you or didn’t like you?” she asked.
“Why, I suppose I’d rather she liked me; it isn’t pleasant to have people dislike you.”
“That is just what I think,” returned Elizabeth. “Mother and father think it is horrid to try to please people for just what you can get out of them, but there are circumstances when it seems to me that we ought to overcome repugniance if we can. Aunt Eunice is really a very good woman, you know.”
“Yes, that is what aunt Emily says, and Mrs. Lynde; they think she is fine. It is a dreadful pity, Elizabeth, that we were so unlucky that day she came.”
“Yes, that was most misfortunate,—I mean unfortunate; ’Lectra says misfortunate, and mother says it isn’t correct. Well, Betsy, are you ready to do something to gain the approbation of the honorable Miss Darby? I am.”
“What?”