Ah! these way-side thorns are little, but sometimes they pierce as sharply as the gleaming sword.
“Good-morning, John!”
At the sound of that voice, Mr. Greylston turned suddenly from the book-case, and his sister was standing near him, her face lit up with a sweet, yet somewhat anxious smile. He threw down in a hurry the papers he had been tying together, and the bit of red tape, and holding out his hand, said fervently,
“I was very harsh last night. I am really sorry for it; will you not forgive me, Margaret?”
“To be sure I will; for indeed, John, I was quite as much to blame as you.”
“No, Madge, you were not,” he quickly answered; “but let it pass, now. We will think and say no more about it;” and, as though he were perfectly satisfied, and really wished the matter dropped, John Greylston turned to his papers again.
So Miss Margaret was silent. She was delighted to have peace again, even though she felt anxious about the pines, and when her brother took his seat at the breakfast table, looking and speaking so kindly, she felt comforted to think the cloud had passed away; and John Greylston himself was very glad. So the two went on eating their breakfast quite happily. But alas! the storm is not always over when the sky grows light. Reuben crossed the lawn, followed by the gardener, and Miss Margaret's quick eye caught the gleaming of the axes swung over their shoulders. She hurriedly set down the coffee-pot.
“Where are those men going? Reuben and Tom I mean.”
“Only to the woods,” was the careless answer.
“But what woods, John? Oh! I can tell by your face; you are determined to have the pines cut down.”