"Do not be ashamed, Florence," said I, "that I should have heard you. I should be sorry if you did not love your papa and mamma well enough to prefer their company to mine; but I hope you love them so well that you will do cheerfully what is not quite so pleasant to yourself, when you are told that it will please them." Florence hung her head, looked very grave, and said nothing. "Speak, Florence," said I, "would you not be willing, for your mother's sake, to do what might not be very pleasant to yourself?"
After a little hesitation, Florence, without raising her head, said in a dissatisfied tone, "I don't see what good it could do mamma for me to go where I do not want to go."
I would have told Florence of her mother's delicate health, and of how much more benefit she would probably receive from travelling if she could be free from care; but Mrs. Arnott, seeming to think there was little hope of influencing Florence in this way, interrupted me, saying, "But, my love, why should you not wish to go home with Harriet and Mary? You know how much you enjoyed your visit of two or three days to them last summer,—and Harriet has since then got a pony—you might ride on horseback if you went now."
"Will she let me ride him?" asked Florence, looking up at me with sudden animation.
"I am sure she will," I replied.
"And may I carry Rover?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, I will go, for I should like to ride on horseback; and then, mamma, I'll have Rover with me, and how odd it will be to see him jumping up and trying to get to me on the horse, just as he tried to-day to catch the ball," and she laughed out, and was again all smiles and good-humor.
The consent of Florence having been obtained, the preparations for her visit were soon completed, and as we set out before the sun had risen on the following morning, there was, as Mrs. Arnott had said, no time for her to change her mind.
Florence could not but love her kind and gentle mother dearly, and I did not wonder to see the tears start as she bade her good-by; but Rover was to be looked after—the wild-flowers with which the road was lined were to be admired—the rising sun was to be seen—and amidst all these, Florence soon forgot to be sad.