“But I knew you were here,” she said, “and I thought you were alone; and I wanted to see you, and talk with you.”
“Come and sit down beside me, Mary,” I said, “and let us have a little chat together.” Then I drew her gently towards me, and she sat down by my side. For a few moments we said nothing, but I was watching her, and waiting to hear what she would say. She seemed such a pretty, such a sweet and gentle girl—more like one of those little birds of glorious plumage and thrilling song that we see glittering among the dew-drops and the dancing leaves, than a child of earth. And I pitied her for her beauty, for such beauty is a snare; and I wondered whether her innocent soul was as fair and glorious before God as her face was sweet to me; and I asked whether, in years to come, when the glory of her childish radiance had passed away, the brightness of a soul pure and serene would lend a new beauty to her features—the beauty, not of childish innocence, but of a noble womanhood.
I took her hand in mine, and asked her some trifling question; but she did not answer. Suddenly she looked up full into my face, and said, “Sister Stenhouse; I’m very, very sorry for you.”
“Sorry for me, dear?” I said. “Why should you be sorry? I am not sad.”
“You shouldn’t say so,” she replied; “you know in your heart you are sad, although you don’t say so. It’s a fine thing, no doubt, for Elder Stenhouse to go away, though for my part I’d rather stop at home if I loved any one there; and at any rate, you must feel sorry that he is going away so far, if you love him.”
“But Mary,” I said, “you know it is his duty to go; and he has been called to it by the Apostle, and it is a great honour.”
“Oh yes, I know that,” she replied, “I know that.” Then we relapsed into silence for some few moments. Presently drawing nearer to me, she said again, quite suddenly, “Sister Stenhouse, do you know the meaning of the word Polygamy?”
“Why, what a funny question to ask me, child!” I exclaimed.
“Child, you call me, Sister Stenhouse; but I’m not a child—at least not quite a child; I shall be fifteen next birthday.”
“Well, dear,” I said, “I did not mean to offend you; and I call you ‘child’ because I love you; but you asked me such a strange question, and used such a strange word.”