One evening they were sitting together at the window, looking
out upon the same old lawn and distant landscape, now in all
the fresh greenness of the young spring. The woods were not
yet in full leaf; and the light of the setting sun upon the
trees bordering the other side of the lawn, showed them in the
most exquisite and varied shades of colour. Some had the
tender green of the new leaf, some were in the red or yellow
browns of the half-opened bud; others in various stages of
forwardness, mixing all the tints between, and the evergreens
standing dark as ever, setting off the delicate hues of the
surrounding foliage. This was all softened off in the
distance; the very light of the spring was mild and tender
compared with that of other seasons; and the air that stole
round the corner of the house and came in at the open window
was laden with aromatic fragrance. Alice and Ellen had been
for some time silently breathing it, and gazing thoughtfully
on the loveliness that was abroad.
"I used to think," said Alice, "that it must be a very hard
thing to leave such a beautiful world. Did you ever think so,
Ellie?"
"I don't know," said Ellen, faintly — "I don't remember."
"I used to think so," said Alice, "but I do not now, Ellie; my
feeling has changed. Do _you_ feel so now, Ellie?"
"Oh, why do you talk about it, dear Alice?"
"For many reasons, dear Ellie.
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