"Adelpha is a lovely maid and as good as she is beautiful. Her lot is a happy one."
There was no bitterness, no regret in the remark; yet her words were so sad, that they went to the heart of Charles.
"Cora, there is such a difference in the lots of people, that sometimes I almost believe God is unjust."
"Hear me out, before you condemn me, Cora. Here is Adelpha, who has known only sunshine and happiness, health and prosperity. She was born in a wealthy family, and has all the luxuries that riches can buy----"
"She is good and deserves them," interrupted Cora. "God has rewarded her."
"But, on the other hand, you are just as good; yet your life has been one of bitterness. Misery seems to steal some people at their birth; but sometimes there come changes in the lives of people. All may run smoothly for a while, then storms gather about the head of the child of fortune, while, on the other hand, to one who has fought and struggled through storms and adversity a peaceful harbor may open----"
"God forbid, Charles, that our lots should be reversed. I would not have Adelpha Leisler drain the cup of bitterness, as I have done; but we must change our subject, for, see there, Adelpha and Alice Corey are coming."
He looked up and saw the two near at hand.
Alice Corey was a bright-eyed girl of fourteen, a niece of Goody Nurse who had been accused of witchcraft. She was a girl of a light and happy disposition, and, as yet, cares sat lightly on her brow.
"Watching the sunset, are you?" said Adelpha, breathless with rapid walking.
"Well, it is a pretty thing to see, and I wish he would always be setting," declared Alice Corey.
"A child's wish," answered Adelpha. "What would become of your flowers?"
"I am sure I don't know. I do so love that red tinge over there, just where it touches the gray."
"It is somewhat like that queer sea-shell which Cora showed me yesterday," said Adelpha. "What splendid paints these mermaids must use, down in their deep sea-caves! It is a kind that does not rub off with wetting. The shells are their pink saucers."
"What! Do they really paint?" cried the credulous Alice.
Charles Stevens laughed softly and answered:
"No, child. You must not believe such stories. I will tell you a prettier one if you'll listen."