She lay silent a long time. I too was silent. At length I spoke.
"Are you longing to be running about amongst the rocks, my Connie?"
"No, papa; not a bit. I don't know how it is, but I don't think I ever
wished much for anything I knew I could not have. I am enjoying everything
more than I can tell you. I wish Wynnie were as happy as I am."
"Why? Do you think she's not happy, my dear?"
"That doesn't want any thinking, papa. You can see that."
"I am afraid you're right, Connie. What do you think is the cause of it?"
"I think it is because she can't wait. She's always going out to meet
things; and then when they're not there waiting for her, she thinks they're
nowhere. But I always think her way is finer than mine. If everybody were
like me, there wouldn't be much done in the world, would there, papa?"
"At all events, my dear, your way is wise for you, and I am glad you do not
judge your sister."
"Judge Wynnie, papa! That would be cool impudence. She's worth ten of me.
Don't you think, papa," she added, after a pause, "that if Mary had said
the smallest word against Martha, as Martha did against Mary, Jesus would
have had a word to say on Martha's side next?"
"Indeed I do, my dear.
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