She liked to rouse Sara
occasionally; and listened with dancing eyes as the latter continued,--
"Now, yesterday, Zeba and Dolly came to call (by the way, I was reading
your Ruskin's 'Stones of Venice' so think what it was to be
interrupted!), and what do you suppose they talked about every minute?
Why, it seems Mrs. Felcher has a brother living in Boston, who has
invited her to visit him, and sent her a box of pretty things; they
named over every one, even to a 'frame-bunnit covered with sating, and
with a bunch of blows on top!'"
Miss Prue had grown grave.
"Yet poor Zeba could teach us both a grand lesson in cheerful patience,"
she said gently.
Sara crimsoned, but did not answer for a moment. They had reached Miss
Prue's gate now, and the latter turned into it. "Wait!" the girl then
said, almost passionately. "I am not worthy to be a King's daughter!
Leave me out of your ten; tell them I can't live up to the simple
requirements; I"--
"Hush! Sara," laying a hand on her young friend who was quivering with
feeling, "I understand it all; you think the Lord has put you into a
niche where you do not belong, for which you have no fitness. Are you
sure you know more than your Maker? Perhaps He sees that, by clipping a
bit here, or adding a trait there, you will be exactly the one for this
niche.
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