“An’t you glad, now, that you got up to go with us, George?” asked Emily, as they tripped along, and drank in the pure morning air.
“Oh, yes. I wouldn’t be in that warm bed, feeling as dull as I did, for anything. I’m so glad that mother made me get up.”
“It was because I knew what was best for you, my son, that I made you get up. I knew that the fresh morning air would not only be good for you, but that when you once breathed it, and exercised in it, you would feel like a new person.”
“Oh, see that beautiful butterfly!” Emily exclaimed, pausing near a sweet-briar bush, upon one of the delicate blossoms of which reposed a large butterfly, with wings glowing in colours the richest and most varied, gently fanning the pure air.
“Shall I catch it, mother?” eagerly asked George, taking off his cap, and beginning to move stealthily towards the sweet-briar bush.
“No, my child,” said Mrs. Hope, laying her hand gently on the boy’s arm, and detaining him.
“But, mother, it is such a beautiful one, I should like to take it home and shew it to father.”
“And what do you think your father would say, if you were to take him that gay insect?”
“He would call it very pretty, I am sure, and say I was a good boy for bringing it to him.”