They hastened back with ten lemons,—all they had of yesterday’s purchase,—and their entire stock of sugar and flour. Not a word of thanks did they receive or expect; but the look of joy on Pecy’s dusky face was reward enough.
“Oh, she’s all right,” said Preston. “A little sore throat, that’s all. And tar won’t hurt her, or mandrake either.—There, now, spread your parasols, for the sun’s coming out. Shall we row up stream or down?”
The next Saturday evening Mary Gray was sitting at her mother’s feet, looking wistfully in her face. She had come home to stay over Sunday, and had just been repeating in a sweet, clear voice, and with unusual feeling, the “verse” she was to speak at Sabbath School concert:—
“God wants the happy-hearted girls,
The loving girls, the best of girls,
The worst of girls!
He wants to make the girls his pearls,
And so reflect his holy face,
And bring to mind his wondrous grace,
That beautiful the world may be,