"That pretty dress and the bonnet—are they nothing?"
"And who told you that?—who told you they came from me?"
"We have not so many friends that there could be much doubt," answered Mrs. Warren, with a sigh. "Julia was sure of it from the first; and the other things!" continued the old lady, in a low voice, glancing at her own neat dress, "who else would have thought of them?"
All truly benevolent persons shrink from spoken thanks. The gratitude expressed by looks and actions may give pleasure, but there is something too material in words—they destroy all the refinement of a generous action. Good Mrs. Gray felt this the more sensitively, because her own words had seemed to challenge the thanks of her guest. The color came into her smooth cheek, and she began to arrange the folds of her dress with both hands, exhibiting a degree of awkwardness quite unusual to her. When she lifted her eyes again, they fell upon a young man coming down the cross road on foot, with an eager and buoyant step.
"There he comes, I thought he would not be long on the way," she cried, while a flash of gladness radiated her face. "It's my nephew; you see him there, Mrs. Warren—no, the maple branch is in the way! Here he is again—now look! a noble fellow, isn't he?"
Mrs. Warren looked, and was indeed struck by the free air and superior appearance of the youth. He had evidently walked some distance, for a light over-sacque hung across his arm, and his face was flushed with exercise. Seeing his aunt, the boy waved his hand; his lips parted in a joyous smile, and he hastened his pace almost to a run.
Mrs. Gray's little brown eyes glistened; she could not turn them from the youth, even while addressing her guest.
"Isn't he handsome?—not like your girl, but handsome for a boy," she exclaimed with fond enthusiasm, "and good—you have no idea, ma'am, how good he is. There, that is just like him, the wild creature!" she continued, as the youth laid one hand upon the door yard fence, and vaulted over, "right into my flower-beds, trampling over the grass there—did you ever?"
"Couldn't help it, Aunt Sarah," shouted the youth, with a careless laugh, "I'm in a hurry to get home, and the gate is too far off. Three kisses for every flower I tramp down—will that do? Ha, what little lady is this?"