“Yes, I will,” he answered earnestly. And then, after a moment, he said,—“Syl Graham, you are your mother’s daughter. I can say no better thing of you,—she was a good woman.”
Syl had a hundred dollars left; but that wouldn’t compass the pomegranate silk, and Syl had concluded now she did not want it. She had had a glimpse of something better; and that hundred dollars would make many a sad heart glad before spring.
On New Year’s Day, Papa Graham was off all day making calls; and the gas was already lighted when he went into his own house, and into his own drawing-room. He saw a girl there with bands of bright chestnut hair about her graceful young head; with shining eyes, and lips as bright as the vivid crimson roses in her braided hair, and in the bosom of her black silk gown. He looked at her with a fond pride and a fonder love; and then he bent to kiss her,—for the room was empty of guests just then. As he lifted his head and met Aunt Rachel’s eyes, it happened that he said about the same words Dr. Meade had used before,—
“She is her mother’s daughter; I can say of her no better thing.”
MY QUARREL WITH RUTH.
I suppose if I had not loved Ruth Carson so much my resentment against her would not have been so bitter. She was my first friend. She had no sister, neither had I; and we used to think that no sisters could be nearer to each other than we were. She had black eyes,—great, earnest, beautiful eyes, with pride and tenderness both in them; sometimes one and sometimes the other in the ascendant. I was yellow-haired and blue-eyed, but we always wanted our gowns and hats alike, and coaxed our mothers into indulging us. I don’t know whether Ruth suffered more in appearance when the clear dark of her face was set in my pale blues, or I, when her brilliant reds and orange turned me into a peony or a sunflower; but we thought little about such effects in those days. If Ruth got her new article of attire first, I must have one like it, whether or no; and if I was first favored, she followed my example.
It was thus in every thing. We studied from the same text-books, keeping a nearly even pace Ruth was quicker than I at figures, so she helped me there; and my eyes were better than her near-sighted ones at finding towns, mountains, and fivers on the atlas, so we always did our “map questions” together. Of course our play hours were always passed in company, and one face was almost as familiar as the other in each of our houses. “The twins,” people used to call us, for fun; and if ever two girls were all and all to each other, we were.