Are there any places like this in heaven? “Yes,” she answers at last, “I like to think so. Indeed,” she adds, “it seems to me sometimes as though this world might almost be heaven itself, if it weren’t for some of the people in it.”
Just now, as if to give force to the remark, one of those jarring voices that make discord in the music of life, is overheard, saying:
“Look at Bessie Barton, off there with Kate. I do wish that child would learn to hold her head up! If I had the management of her I’d cure her of her bashfulness in short order!”
Kate glances down. Has Bessie heard? No; her thoughts are ever so far away.
“Oh, Bessie,” says the other, quickly, lest there is more to come, “I see some cardinal-flowers down there by the brook. Won’t you go bring me some, please?”
And as the child flies away on the errand, Kate joins the companions from whom they have strayed, and confronts the owner of the voice with—
“Now you shall not say anything against Bessie. She’s a little angel.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have dared to say a word, Kate, if I had thought you were within earshot. She’s a particular pet of yours, I believe. But how you can find anything interesting in her, I can’t see. She’s plain, and so shy and lackadaisical! I don’t see how she’s ever going to get through the world without a little more vim.”
“Ah, you’ll see. But as to her being plain, now I don’t think so. What rosy cheeks she has! and her eyes—why, they’re lovely. And she’s not what I should call lackadaisical, in the least. Why, she’s the busiest little body alive! always doing something for somebody. And then she has talent—a wonderful eye for figure. I think she’s going to make an artist.”