“Miss Bethia is growing old,” whispered David.
“And there is something more the matter with her than she will acknowledge, I am afraid,” said Violet.
“It is time to go into the house. The dew is beginning to fall. Come, children,” said the mother, rising.
David and Violet came last with Miss Bethia. She smiled, well pleased, when, with boyish gallantry, David offered her his arm.
“I’ve gone alone all my life,” said she, “and now I am most at the end of it. I’ve taken a great many steps, too, at one time and another, but they don’t seem to amount to much to look back upon.”
“And you have a good many more to take, I hope,” said Violet, hardly knowing how to answer her.
But Miss Bethia shook her head.
“It ain’t likely. But the next six months seem longer to look forward to than a great many years do to look back upon. It is all right, anyhow. And, children, if I should never see you again—I want you to remember to consider your mother always. You must never forget her.”
“No,” said David, wondering a little at her earnestness.
“And, David, and you too, Violet, don’t you get to thinking too much about property. It is a good thing to have, I’ll allow, but it ain’t the best thing by considerable. Some get to love it, by having too much, and some by having too little; but it ain’t a satisfying portion any way that it can be fixed, and the love of it makes one forget everything else. And be sure and be good children to your mother, if I shouldn’t ever see you again. I don’t suppose I need to tell you so; but it’s about as good a thing to say for a last word as any, except this—Follow the Lord always, and keep your armour bright.”