“Sit down; Jennie will be in presently.”
“Where is she, grandma?”
“In the strawberry bed at the back of the house. I will call her.”
“No, grandma, let us go for her: and may we pick some strawberries?”
“As many as you wish.”
By this time Jennie had seen the buggy, and surmising who had come, started to meet us. One glad cry of surprise, and her arms were round my neck.
“Oh, brother, I am so glad to see you. I began to fear you would never come again;” then turning to Harry, as I named him, she held out her little dimpled hand. “I am glad you came to-day, the strawberries are so fine. This is the first day we have had them in abundance. Will you take some of mine?” holding up a bowl she had picked quite full, the red stain still on her fingers.
“Grandma said we might help ourselves.”
An hour passed deliciously, and then Jennie ran in, smoothed out her sunny curls, and put on a fresh pretty gingham, looking handsomer than I had ever seen her before. Miss Grimshaw came in for tea, and the nice white rolls were enjoyed by us with a peculiar zest, while the strawberries and cream were, as Harry said, beyond all praise. After tea we strolled out to the river, gathered violets, and talked of our studies.
“It looks natural, and still every thing wears a brighter hue,” I said to Jennie as we stood on the door-step. “I have never seen the spring half so beautiful.”