“Ha!”
“You will try, will you not?”
“I will! if only Mademoiselle——”
“Ah, let us look on Mademoiselle as some one placed in close relation to you by our heavenly Father for wise purposes of His own, which He does not think it necessary to communicate to her or to you. And now eat your bread and butter.”
She did so, having first given me a hearty kiss.
I am always glad when fine, bright weather on a Sunday morning favours the church-goers, though I am debarred by bodily infirmities from joining the multitude on their way to the house of God, and swelling the voice of praise and thanksgiving among such as keep holy-day. And though my eyes have sometimes swelled with tears, and my heart yearned with vain longings, as I have seen the scattered parties trooping past my gate, yet more often, far more often, I have silently bidden them good speed, and mentally repeated that sweet and soothing sonnet of Mrs. Hemans—
“How many blessed groups this hour are bending
Through England’s primrose-meadow paths their way!
Toward spire and tower, ’mid shadowy elms ascending,