“You look so lovely and pale,” said Elizabeth admiringly. “I would give anything to be pale; it is so interesting. I think when I die I would like to languish away,” she added sentimentally, “although I wouldn’t like to have a worm feed on my damask cheek.”
“Who had that?” inquired Flo with interest.
“Why, don’t you know the poetry that says a worm in the bud fed on her damask cheek?”
At this a merry little chuckle sounded from just above them and Miss Jewett’s bright face looked out from the window; “Elizabeth, you funny girl,” she said, “you don’t get that quotation right; it is: ‘And let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud, feed on her damask cheek.’”
“I always thought it was a worm, a real live worm,” replied Elizabeth, quite taken aback. “I don’t believe I understand it yet, Miss Jewett.”
“Neither do I,” spoke up Flo.
“Why, it means this: that the young woman concealed her love and the effort to do so showed its effect; concealment took her vitality, the rose from her cheek, and made her pale—just as a worm in the bud of a rose destroys it.”
“Oh!” The girls saw the point. “I am rather glad it is that way,” decided Elizabeth, “for I cannot bear any kind of worm, and Betsy is always teasing by putting caterpillars on me; I dislike them more than spiders. Miss Jewett, did you know that Flo wasn’t expected to live?”
“Yes, I heard the sad news at the time. We are very thankful to have her back again, aren’t we? I hope she will get some roses into her pale cheeks.”
“I think it is nice to be pale,” remarked Elizabeth honestly.