"And how about the sugar-plums?"
"The sugar-plums! Oh," said Ellen, laughing, "Miss Margaret may have them all, if she likes I'm quite willing. Not but I had rather give them to you, Sir."
"You give me something a great deal better when I see you try to overcome a wrong feeling. You mustn't rest till you get rid of every bit of ill-will that you feel for this and any other unkindness you may suffer. You cannot do it yourself, but you know who can help you. I hope you have asked Him, Ellen?"
"I have? Sir, indeed."
"Keep asking Him, and he will do everything for you."
A silence of some length followed. Ellen began to feel very much the fatigue of this exciting day, and sat quietly by her friend's side leaning against him. The wind had changed about sundown, and now blew light from the south, so that they did not feel it all.
The light gradually faded away, till only a silver glow in the west showed where the sun had set, and the sober gray of twilight was gently stealing over all the bright colours of sky, and river, and hill; now and then a twinkling light began to appear along the shores.
You are very tired," said Ellen's friend to her "I see you are. A little more patience, my child we shall be at our journey's end before a very great while."
"I am almost sorry," said Ellen, "though I am tired. We don't go in the steamboat to-morrow, do we, Sir?"
"No in the stage."