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Miss Sydney’s Flowers
by
Miss Sydney asking her to go round to the kitchen, and warm herself; and, on finding out more of her new acquaintance’s difficulties, she sent her home happy, with money enough to pay the dreaded bill, and a basket of good things which furnished such a supper for herself and sister Polly as they had not seen for a long time. And their fortunes were bettered from that day. “If it hadn’t been for the flowers, I should ha’ been freezing my old bones on Jefferson Street this minute, I s’pose,” said the Widow Marley.
Miss Sydney went back to the dining-room after her protegee had gone, and felt a comfortable sense of satisfaction in what she had done. It had all come about in such an easy way too! A little later she went into the conservatory, and worked among her plants. She really felt so much younger and happier and once, as she stood still, looking at some lilies-of-the-valley that John had been forcing into bloom, she did not notice that a young lady was looking through the window at her very earnestly.
III.
That same evening Mrs. Thorne and Bessie were sitting up late in their library. It was snowing very fast, and had been since three o’clock; and no one had called. They had begun the evening by reading and writing, and now were ending with a talk.
“Mamma,” said Bessie, after there had been a pause, “whom do you suppose I have taken a fancy to? And do you know, I pity her so much!–Miss Sydney.”
“But I don’t know that she is so much to be pitied,” said Mrs. Thorne, smiling at the enthusiastic tone. “She must have everything she wants. She lives all alone, and hasn’t any intimate friends, but, if a person chooses such a life, why, what can we do? What made you think of her?”
“I have been trying to think of one real friend she has. Everybody is polite enough to her, and I never heard that any one disliked her; but she must be forlorn sometimes. I came through that new street by her house to-day: that’s how I happened to think of her. Her greenhouse is perfectly beautiful, and I stopped to look in. I always supposed she was cold as ice (I’m sure she looks so); but she was standing out in one corner, looking down at some flowers with just the sweetest face. Perhaps she is shy. She used to be very good-natured to me when I was a child, and used to go there with you. I don’t think she knows me since I came home; at any rate, I mean to go to see her some day.”
“I certainly would,” said Mrs. Thorne. “She will be perfectly polite to you, at all events. And perhaps she may be lonely, though I rather doubt it; not that I wish to discourage you, my dear. I haven’t seen her in a long time, for we have missed each other’s calls. She never went into society much; but she used to be a very elegant woman, and is now, for that matter.”
“I pity her,” said Bessie persistently. “I think I should be very fond of her if she would let me. She looked so kind as she stood among the flowers to-day! I wonder what she was thinking about. Oh! do you think she would mind if I asked her to give me some flowers for the hospital?”
Bessie Thorne is a very dear girl. Miss Sydney must have been hard-hearted if she had received her coldly one afternoon a few days afterward, she seemed so refreshingly young and girlish a guest as she rose to meet the mistress of that solemn, old-fashioned drawing-room. Miss Sydney had had a re-action from the pleasure her charity had given her, and was feeling bewildered, unhappy, and old that day. “What can she wish to see me for, I wonder?” thought she, as she closed her book, and looked at Miss Thorne’s card herself, to be sure the servant had read it right. But, when she saw the girl herself, her pleasure showed itself unmistakably in her face.