"Oh dear, I should be very wicked if I were ashamed of speaking to poor people," said Emma. "Papa and mamma would be much displeased with me; and they are so kind, that I should be sorry to do any thing to excite their displeasure."
The primrose girl now placed her basket on her head, and putting her penny into one corner of it, sighed mournfully as she bade Emma adieu, saying she would buy a penny roll, and carry it home to her sick mother.
"Oh dear," cried Emma, "if you have got a sick mother, I am sure my mamma would do something for her, for she is very kind to every body that is ill. Where do you live, little girl? pray tell me, and I will come and see you, if mamma pleases, and bring you something. I have got a nice basket, which will hold a great deal, you cannot think how much! This is my birth-day, and what do you think I will do? I will save all my plum-cake, and you shall have it for your sick mother, indeed you shall."
The primrose girl dropt a low curtsey, and informing her young benefactress that her mother lived by the side of the old barn in the forest, she tripped away in pursuit of more customers, and with a joyful heart, that she had already got one penny towards the homely meal which awaited her when the labours of the day should be over; while little Emma awaited a very different scene in the splendid breakfast parlour in the family mansion of Heathwood Park. Scarcely, however, could the transports of Mr. and Mrs. Selwhyn be concealed in the presence of their beloved child, the discovery of whose benevolent disposition towards the poor primrose girl had rendered her doubly dear to them.
"Well," cried Mrs. Selwhyn, "what do you think of Emma now?"
"Think!" exclaimed Mr. Selwhyn, "why I am of opinion that the red morocco purse cannot be better bestowed than on one who knows so well how to make a proper use of it. Here she comes, with cheeks as fresh as the blooming rose! But pray do not say a word of the primrose girl."
Emma now came into the room, and paid her respects to her papa and mamma, who kissing her ruby lips, reminded her that it was her birth-day.
"You are nine years old to-day, Emma," said Mrs. Selwhyn.
"Yes, mamma; and nine more will make eighteen, and I shall be a great woman, if I live till then; and my apple-tree, that papa said he planted the day I was born, will be a great tree, with plenty of apples on it; and you know, as it is mine, I may, when I am grown a woman, do what I like with it."
"Oh, certainly," exclaimed Mr. Selwhyn; "but pray, Emma, in that case, what would you do with it? I should like to know."