Ch. 12 - Christie's Gala - Page 2

morning-glories that bloomed late and lovely in that sheltered spot.
He turned as she approached, held out his hand, and bent a little as
if he was moved to add a tenderer greeting. But he did not, only
held the hand she gave him for a moment, as he said with the
paternal expression unusually visible:

"I wished you many happy birthdays; and, if you go on getting
younger every year like this, you will surely have them."

It was the first compliment he had ever paid her, and she liked it,
though she shook her head as if disclaiming it, and answered
brightly:

"I used to think many years would be burdensome, and just before I
came here I felt as if I could not bear another one. But now I like
to live, and hope I shall a long, long time."

"I'm glad of that; and how do you mean to spend these long years of
yours?" asked David, brushing back the lock of hair that was always
falling into his eyes, as if he wanted to see more clearly the
hopeful face before him.

"In doing what your morning-glories do,--climb up as far and as fast
as I can before the frost comes," answered Christie, looking at the
pretty symbols she had chosen.

"You have got on a good way already then," began David, smiling at
her fancy.

"Oh no, I haven't!" she said quickly. "I'm only about half way up.
See here: I'll tell how it is;" and, pointing to the different parts
of the flowery wall, she added in her earnest way: "I've watched
these grow, and had many thoughts about them, as I sit sewing in the
porch. These variegated ones down low are my childish fancies; most
of them gone to seed you see. These lovely blue ones of all shades
are my girlish dreams and hopes and plans. Poor things! some are
dead, some torn by the wind, and only a few pale ones left quite
perfect. Here you observe they grow sombre with a tinge of purple;
that means pain and gloom, and there is where I was when I came
here. Now they turn from those sad colors to crimson, rose, and soft
pink. That's the happiness and health I found here. You and your
dear mother planted them, and you see how strong and bright they
are."

She lifted up her hand, and gathering one of the great rosy cups
offered it to him, as if it were brimful of the thanks she could not
utter. He comprehended, took it with a quiet "Thank you," and stood
looking at it for a moment, as if her little compliment pleased him
very much.

"And these?" he said presently, pointing to the delicate violet
bells that grew next the crimson ones.

The color deepened a shade in Christie's cheek, but she went on with
no other sign of shyness; for with David she always