"I wish he would go. Why does he stand there making conversation?" thought Katherine, while she said aloud: "I don't see that. If every one helped two or three poor creatures whom they knew, we should not have all this poverty and suffering which are distracting to think about."
"I doubt it; it would be more likely to pauperize the whole nation."
Here Charlie and Cis, with earth-stained knees and hands—the latter full of violets—reluctantly descended. Adding these to the basket already overflowing, they had a short wrangle as to who should carry it, and then Katherine turned her steps homeward. Errington passed the bridle over his arm, and to her great annoyance, walked beside her.
"Are you, then, disposed to give yourself to faith and to good works?"
"I do not know. I should like to help those who want, but I fear I am too fond of pleasure to sacrifice myself—at least I was and I suppose the love will return. Of course it is easy to give money; it is hard to give one's self."
"You seem very philosophic for so young a lady."
"I am not young," said Katherine, sadly; "I am years older than Lady Alice."
"How many—one or two?" asked Errington, in his kind, fatherly, somewhat superior tone, which rather irritated her.
"The years I mean are not to be measured by the ordinary standard; even you must know that some years last longer—no, that is not the expression—press heavier than others."
"Even I? Do you think I am specially matter-of-fact?"