Karl brought them out and
set them in April; and they are growing beautifully, you see. Wasn't
Mr. Burroughs good?"
Kitty did not answer. She was bending low over the sweetbrier, and
inhaling the fragrance of its leaves. Karl and Sunshine had driven
to the barn, and the girls remained alone. Dora glanced sharply at
her cousin once, and then was turning away, when Kitty detained her,
and said in a low voice,--
"My mother planted that sweetbrier, and used to call it her
Marnie-bush, after me."
"I know it," said Dora softly.
"And that was the reason you brought it here. And I have been cross
to you so much! But I did love her so, Dora! oh, you don't know how
much I loved my mother! That is the reason I never will let any one
call me Marnie now. It was the name she always called me, though
Kitty belongs to me too; but she said it so softly! And to think you
should bring the Marnie-bush all the way from Massachusetts!"
"I thought you would like it, dear," said Dora absently; while her
eyes grew dim and vague, and around her mouth settled the white,
hard line, that, in her reticent nature, showed an emotion no less
intense because it was suppressed.
Then her arm stole round Kitty's waist, and she whispered in her
ear,--
"We two motherless girls ought to feel for each other, and love each
other better than those who never knew what it is; shouldn't we,
Kitty?"
"We should that, Dora," returned her cousin with emphasis; "and I
don't believe I shall forget again right away.
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