“How kind, how good he is!” thought Helen, as his hand passed gently over her brow, smoothing back the moist and tangled hair, then glided against her cheek, while he arranged the twisted bonnet and untied the dangling strings, which had tightened into a hard and obstinate knot. “I wonder what makes him so kind and good to me?”
When they came to the fence, surrounding the strawberry-field, Helen’s steps involuntarily grew slower, and she hung back heavily on the hand of her companion. Her old fears came rushing over her, drowning her new-born courage.
Arthur laid his hand on the top rail, and vaulted over as lightly as a bird, then held out his arms towards her.
“Climb, and I will catch you,” said he, with an encouraging smile. Poor little Helen felt constrained to obey him, though she turned white as snow—and when he took her in his arms, he felt her heart beating and fluttering like the wings of a caged humming-bird.
“Ah, I see the silver bucket,” he cried, “all filled with strawberries. The enemy is fled; the coast is clear.”
He still held her in his arms, while he stooped and lifted the bucket, then again vaulted over the fence, as if no burden impeded his movements.
“You are safe,” said he, “and you can now gladden your mother’s heart by this sweet offering. Are you sorry you came?”
“Oh! no,” she replied, “I feel happy now.” She insisted upon his eating part of the strawberries, but he refused, and as they walked home, he gathered green leaves and flowers, and made a garland round them.
“What makes you so good to me?” she exclaimed, with an irresistible impulse, looking gratefully in his face.
“Because I like you,” he replied; “you remind me, too, of a dear little sister of mine, whom I love very tenderly. Poor unfortunate Alice! Your lot is happier than hers.”