“No, he is going to black mine, if he will. You wont need boots for a week yet, so we wont waste any time over them. You will find everything in the shed, Ben, and at ten you may go for Lita.”
With that, Miss Celia walked her brother off to the dining-room, and Ben retired to vent his ire in such energetic demonstrations with the blacking-brush that the little boots shone splendidly.
He thought he had never seen anything as pretty as his mistress when, an hour later, she came out of the house in her white shawl and bonnet, holding a book and a late lily-of-the-valley in the pearl-colored gloves, which he hardly dared to touch as he helped her into the carriage. He had seen a good many fine ladies in his life, and those he had known had been very gay in the colors of their hats and gowns, very fond of cheap jewelry, and much given to feathers, lace and furbelows, so it rather puzzled him to discover why Miss Celia looked so sweet and elegant in such a simple suit. He did not know then that the charm was in the woman, not the clothes, or that merely living near such a person would do more to give him gentle manners, good principles and pure thoughts, than almost any other training he could have had. But he was conscious that it was pleasant to be there, neatly dressed, in good company, and going to church like a respectable boy. Somehow, the lonely feeling got better as he rolled along between green fields, with the June sunshine brightening everything, a restful quiet in the air, and a friend beside him who sat silently looking out at the lovely world with what he afterward learned to call her “Sunday face.” A soft, happy look, as if all the work and weariness of the past week were forgotten, and she was ready to begin afresh when this blessed day was over.
“Well, child, what is it?” she asked, catching his eye as he stole a shy glance at her, one of many which she had not seen.
“I was only thinking you looked as if——”
“As if what? Don’t be afraid,” she said, for Ben paused and fumbled at the reins, feeling half ashamed to tell his fancy.
“You was saying prayers,” he added, wishing she had not caught him.
“So I was. Don’t you, when you are happy?”
“No’m. I’m glad, but I don’t say anything.”
“Words are not needed, but they help, sometimes, if they are sincere and sweet. Did you never learn any prayers, Ben?”