“Good, though you can spell it in four letters, is a very large word, Nellie, and means so much; and others mean so many. Not to do much harm is one thing; but to do good, not once in a while, but to be constant in it—that is another thing, Nellie, and that was what I promised. That promise I cannot say I have kept.”
Nellie bent her head lower over her work, and I believe I saw some tears fall, but she said nothing. I went on:
“Now Kenneth does good.”
There was no mistake about the tears this time, although the head bent a little lower still. “Kenneth does a great deal of good. He goes about among the poor as regularly as a physician, and whatever his medicine may be it seems to do them more good than any they can get at the druggist’s. He has sent I don’t know how many youngsters off to school, where he pays for them. In fact, he seems to me to be always scheming and thinking about others and never dreaming of himself, whereas I am always scheming and thinking about myself and never seem to see anybody else in the world. Why, what are you doing with that stuff in your hands, Nellie? You are sewing it anyhow.”
“O Roger! You—you—” she could say no more, but hid her face, that was rosy and pure as the dawn, on my breast.
“A very pretty picture,” said a deep voice behind us, and Nellie started away from me, while all the blood rushed back to her heart. She was so white that Kenneth—for it was he who had stolen up unobserved at the moment—was frightened, and said:
“Pardon me, Miss Herbert, if I have startled you. I have only this instant come, and quite forgot that the grass silenced the sound of my footsteps. Take this chair—shall I bring a glass of water?”
“No, thank you; I am better now. It was only a moment. We did not hear you.”
“May I join you, then? Or was it a tête-à-tête?”
“No; sit down, Kenneth. The fact is, we were just discussing the character of an awful scamp.”