Haw: the fruit of the hawthorne.
Adrienne, enticed by a little side path, turned off the avenue and came suddenly upon a child standing on tiptoe in the wet grass, and stretching up in a vain endeavor to reach a branch of roseberries that hung temptingly out from a clump of bushes. A sylph-like, tender little thing, she looked as though a sudden gust of wind would blow her right away. And then she was carefully dressed; the golden hair that hung down to her waist was neatly brushed, and the hand stretched up to the roseberries was cased in a warm cloth glove.
Adrienne stepped on to the grass and succeeded in reaching the branch. Blushing and surprised the little girl thanked her with a sweet smile. At the same moment a voice exclaimed, "Marion, Marion, for goodness' sake come off that sopping grass!" and looking up, Adrienne perceived a lady, in a shiny, black silk gown, who with an anxious face was hurrying down the path.
"Let me see your feet," she continued, coming up to them and taking Marion's hand as the child stepped obediently on to the path. "Yes, they're soaking wet! You must come back and change at once! I beg your pardon, Miss Blair. I know I ought to have spoken to you first, but this child is so delicate she keeps me in a perpetual fright. How could you think of going on the grass, Marion?"
"I'm so sorry, mother," replied the child, in her sweet little voice, "I quite forgot."
"Well, well, come back and change as quickly as you can, and perhaps there'll be no harm done. And you, Miss Blair, I am sure your feet must be wet too! Will you come in, and let me have your boots dried in the kitchen? The house is quite close. I am Mrs. Plunkett."
"Thank you," she said; "I don't think my feet are at all wet. I was only on the grass for a moment."
"Ah! but you don't know this climate; it is most treacherous. Marion, don't bring that litter into the house." As she spoke she pulled the branch of roseberries out of Marion's hand and threw it away. "There's nothing more dangerous than wet feet, I can assure you—I lost my poor sister through nothing in the world but that,—and Mr. Plunkett's mother often said, 'Anything else you please, James, but no wet feet, I beg.'"
Marion looked regretfully after her pretty red branch, but she said nothing, and Mrs. Plunkett continued to relate anecdotes of people who had died from the consequences of wet feet, till a few more turns in the path brought them to the back of a neat-looking house and garden.
"Pray walk in," said Mrs. Plunkett, throwing open the gate. And in a minute or two more, Adrienne, found herself sitting without her boots in a wicker arm-chair beside the nursery fire. A beautiful nursery it was—beautiful, not from any special luxury of furniture, but by its exquisite cleanliness. The white, boarded floor was as spotless as scrubbing could make it; the brass knobs of the fireplace glittered in the sunlight; the window-panes could not have been more brilliantly transparent.