The next instant she would have given much to withdraw
it. Elizabeth glanced down and flushed painfully. There it was: "She's so
plain. She's Rocky Mountainy--all ridges and hubbles." But Bernice was back
at her work again, evidently unruffled.
When the bell tapped for intermission, Elizabeth went to her. "Bernice, I
did write it. O, I am so ashamed!" and, bursting into tears, she hid her
face on Bernice's shoulder.
One of those smiles that somehow have the power of transforming the
harshest features, swept over the girl's face, and, picking up Elizabeth's
hand, she kissed it softly again and again. "I won't kiss her face," she
thought, "I am so homely!" but from that day she slipped into the queenly
place she had a right to occupy, and it was not long before every one
forgot her plainness.
And let me whisper you a secret, girls,--for even now Bernice does not seem
to know,--as she grew older, the rough lines mellowed and softened, the
short figure stretched upward, till she was beautiful as ever her dearest
wish had pictured. Was it not lovely spirit within, for Bernice was a
Christian, molding and modeling the clay into a fit dwelling-place for
itself? That is a beauty that never quite withers away.
Pages:
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199