"And as they may be again," said the mother; "but not as they ought to be, I allow. But you bear your trial so well, love, that I would not have it increased by one unkind, or worldly remark. You have done right, and can, therefore, afford to suffer; yet there is no harm in sparing yourself any needless pain. Go to sleep, now, my child, I do not wish to see you tired, to-morrow."
Mabel retired to her own room, with feelings stirred up, she scarce knew why, by the arrival of their new guests, and she would willingly have thought awhile in silence, but Amy was awake, and restless.
"What time is it, Mabel, dear," for by that affectionate title, she usually addressed her.
"Past one o'clock, dear," said Mabel; "are you awake, still."
"I have been to sleep, once," said Amy; "but I was dreaming all the time, first of Lucy, and then about Captain Clair, and the blackberries. You said she would not like me quite at first, but she seems to love you in one evening—how is that?"
"I really do not know; Lucy puzzles me, rather, but she says she likes, or dislikes, quickly."
"But that is what you tell me not to do," said Amy, sitting up in her bed, as if prepared for a regular discussion of the subject.
"Yes," said Mabel, "because I am afraid you will not choose your friends well, and may be mistaken if you judge too quickly."
"Well," said Amy, gravely; "I suppose Lucy is clever to find you out so soon, but it puzzles me to think how she could tell you were good, in one evening."
"I do not think she does know much about me, yet," said Mabel; "but do not let us think of her just now, for if we never think of ourselves at any other time, I think we should before we go to sleep. So, now you must not talk any more."