“Don’t you? Emmy does. She makes jam every summer.”
Emberance would not have herself made this announcement; but she had the tact to answer readily.
“Yes, and very hot work you would find it, Kitty, if you really had it to do. Picking the blackberries is much pleasanter.”
“Everything in its turn,” said Kate, as she walked along the lane in the bright autumn sunlight, swinging her basket on her arm.
They had turned away from the sea, and the view offered nothing but commonplace fields and hedgerows, bounded by low chalky downs, but with the blue sky over head, and the rich autumn tinting of the hedges, the blackberry lane afforded a pretty setting for the group of young people, as they walked along laughing and chattering, Kate running ahead, and playing with the dogs, while Emberance followed more soberly in the rear, with the handsome picturesque Major by her side.
“Such fresh enjoyment is rare,” he said, rather sentimentally. “How long can it last?”
“Katharine has never had any troubles, and she is naturally lively,” returned Emberance.
“It is pretty to look at—but doesn’t it place a creature rather out of one’s sympathy, like a bird or a fairy? It is so very long since any outward circumstances could afford that sort of rapture.”
“Yes!” returned Emberance, with a sigh for New Zealand, and then her conscience smote her, for, after all, was she not enjoying herself very much?
She blushed and then continued laughing: