hundred if I wanted it”; and Ralph looked as eager and secure as if
the earning of twice that sum was a mere trifle when all the
longing of his life was put into his daily tasks.
“I wish 1 had it to give you. It must be so splendid to feel that you
can do great things if you only have the chance. And to travel, and
see all the lovely pictures and statues, and people and places in
Italy. Flow happy you must be!” and Merry’s eyes had the wistful
look they always wore when she dreamed dreams of the world she
loved to live in.
“I am–so happy that I’m afraid it never will happen. If I do go, I’ll
write and tell you all about the fine sights, and how I get on.
Would you like me to?” asked Ralph, beginning enthusiastically
and ending rather bashfully, for he admired Merry very much, and
was not quite sure how this proposal would be received.
“Indeed I should! I’d feel so grand to have letters from Paris and
Rome, and you’d have so much to tell it would be almost as good
as going myself,” she said, looking off into the daffodil sky, as they
paused a minute on the hill-top to get breath, for both had walked
as fast as they talked.
“And will you answer the letters?” asked Ralph, watching the
innocent face, which looked unusually kind and beautiful to him in
that soft light.
‘Why, yes; I’d love to, only I shall not have anything interesting to
say. What can I write about?” and Merry smiled as she thought
how dull her letters would sound after the exciting details his
would doubtless give.
“Write about yourself, and all the rest of the people I know.
Grandma will be gone, and I shall want to hear how you get on.”
Ralph looked very anxious indeed to hear, and Merry promised she
would tell all about the other people, adding, as she turned from
the evening peace and loveliness to the house, whence came the
clatter of milk-pans and the smell of cooking,
“I never should have anything very nice to tell about myself, for I
don’t do interesting things as you do, and you wouldn’t care to hear
about school, and sewing, and messing round at home.”
Merry gave a disdainful little sniff at the savory perfume of ham
which saluted them, and paused with her hand on the gate, as if
she found it pleasanter out there than in the house. Ralph seemed
to agree with her, for, leaning on the gate, he lingered to say, with
real sympathy in his tone and something else in his face, “Yes, I
should; so you write and tell me all about it. I didn’t
know you had any worries, for you always seemed like one of the
happiest people in the world, with so many to pet and care for you,
and plenty of money, and nothing very hard or hateful to do. You’d
think you were well off if you knew as much about poverty and
work and never getting what you want, as I do.”
“You bear your worries so well that nobody knows you have them.
I ought not to complain, and I won’t, for I do have all I need. I’m so
glad you are going to get what you want at last”; and Merry held
out her hand to say good-night, with so much pleasure in her face
that Ralph could not make up his mind to go just yet.
“I shall have to scratch round in a lively way before I do get it, for
David says a fellow can’t live on less than four or five hundred a
year, even living as poor artists have to, in garrets and on Crusts. I
don’t mind as long as Grandma is all right. She is away to-night, or
I should not be here,” he added, as if some excuse was necessary.
Merry needed no hint, for her tender heart was touched by the
vision of her friend in a garret, and she suddenly rejoiced that there
was ham and eggs for supper, so that he might be well fed once, at