Olive laughed; and afterwards said, thoughtfully, “She has then lived a happy life—has this good Aunt Flora!”
“Not always happy,” answered the eldest and gravest of the M'Gillivrays. “My mother once heard that she had some great trouble in her youth. But she has outlived it, and conquered it in time. People say such things are possible: I cannot tell,” added the girl, with a faint sigh.
There was no more said of Mrs. Flora, but oftentimes during the day, when some passing memory stung poor Olive, causing her to turn wearily from the mirth of her young companions, there came before her in gentle reproof the likeness of the aged woman who had lived down her one great woe—lived, not only to feel but to impart cheerfulness.
A few hours after, Olive saw her aunt sitting smiling amidst a little party which she had gathered together, playing with the children, sympathising with those of elder growth, and looked up to by old and young with an affection passing that of mere kindred. And then there came a balm of hope to the wounded spirit that had felt life's burden too heavy to be borne.
“How happy you are, and how much everyone loves you!” said Olive, when Mrs. Flora and herself were left alone, and their hearts inclined each to each with a vague sympathy.
“Yours must have been a noble woman's life.”
“I have tried to make it so, as far as I could, my dear bairn; and the little good I have done has come back upon me fourfold. It is always so.”
“And you have been content—nay happy!”
“Ay, I have! God quenched the fire on my own hearth, that I might learn to make that of others bright My dear, one's life never need be empty of love, even though, after seeing all near kindred drop away, one lingers to be an old maid of eighty years.”