"I learned long ago,"said Miss Ainslie,after a little,"that we may be happy or not,just as we choose.Happiness is not a circumstance,nor a set of circumstances;it's only a light,and we may keep it burning if we will.So many of us are like children,crying for the moon,instead of playing contentedly with the few toys we have.We're always hoping for something,and when it does n't come we fret and worry ;when it does,why there's always something else we'd rather have.We deliberately make nearly all of our unhappiness,with our own unreasonable discontent,and nothing will ever make us happy,deary,except the spirit within.""But,Miss Ainslie,"Ruth objected,"do you really think everybody can be happy?""Of course--everybody who wishes to be.Some people are happier when they're miserable.I don't mean,deary,that it's easy for any of us,and it's harder for some than for others,all because we never.grow up.We're always children--our playthings are a little different,that's all.""'Owning ourselves forever children,'quoted Ruth,"'gathering pebbles on a boundless shore.'""Yes,I was just thinking of that.A little girl breaks her doll,and though the new one may be much prettier,it never wholly fills the vacant place,and it's that way with a woman's dream."The sweet voice sank into a whisper,followed by a lingering sigh.
"Miss Ainslie,"said Ruth,after a pause,"did you know my mother?""No,I didn't,deary--I'm sorry.I saw her once or twice,but she went away,soon after we came here.""Never mind,"Ruth said,hurriedly,for Mrs.Thorne's family had never forgiven her runaway marriage.
"Come into the garden,"Miss Ainslie suggested,and Ruth followed her,willingly,into the cloistered spot where golden lilies tinkled,thrushes sang,and every leaf breathed peace.
Miss Ainslie gathered a bit of rosemary,crushing it between her white fingers."See,"she said,"some of us are like that it takes a blow to find the sweetness in our souls.Some of us need dry,hard places,like the poppies "--pointing to a mass of brilliant bloom--"and some of us are always thorny,like the cactus,with only once in a while a rosy star.
"I've always thought my flowers had souls,dear,"she went on;"they seem like real people to me.I've seen the roses rubbing their cheeks together as if they loved each other,and the forget-me-nots are little blue-eyed children,half afraid of the rest.
"Over there,it always seems to me as if the lavender was a little woman in a green dress,with a lavender bonnet and a white kerchief.She's one of those strong,sweet,wholesome people,who always rest you,and her sweetness lingers long after she goes away.I gather all the flowers,and every leaf,though the flowers are sweetest.I put the leaves away with my linen and the flowers among my laces.I have some beautiful lace,deary.""I know you have--I've often admired it."
"I'm going to show it to you some day,"she said,with a little quiver in her voice,"and some other day,when I can't wear it any more,you shall have some of it for your own.""Don't,Miss Ainslie,"cried Ruth,the quick tears coming to her eyes,"I don't want any lace--I want you!""I know,"she answered,but there was a far-away look in her eyes,and something in her voice that sounded like a farewell.
"Miss Thorne,"called Joe from the gate,"here's a package for yer.It come on the train."He waited until Ruth went to him and seemed disappointed when she turned back into the garden."Say,"he shouted,"is Hepsey to home?"Ruth was busy with the string and did not hear."Oh,look!"she exclaimed,"what roses!""They're beautiful,deary.I do not think I have ever seen such large ones.Do you know what they are?""American Beauties--they're from Mr.Winfield.He knows I love them."Miss Ainslie started violently."From whom,dear?"she asked,in a strange tone.
"Mr.Winfield--he's going to be on the same paper with me in the Fall.He's here for the Summer,on account of his eyes."Miss Ainslie was bending over the lavender.
"It is a very common name,is it not?"she asked.
"Yes,quite common,"answered Ruth,absently,taking the roses out of the box.
"You must bring him to see me some time,dear;I should like to know him.""Thank you,Miss Ainslie,I will."
They stood at the gate together,and Ruth put a half blown rose into her hand."I wouldn't give it to anybody but you,"she said,half playfully,and then Miss Ainslie knew her secret.She put her hand on Ruth's arm and looked down into her face,as if there was something she must say.
"I don't forget the light,Miss Ainslie."
"I know,"she breathed,in answer.She looked long and searchingly into Ruth's eyes,then whispered brokenly,"God bless you,dear.Good bye!"
