"Nothing," said Emma; "only love me: if you can do that, Fanny, I shall
feel better."
Fanny tried to laugh, though she felt more like crying. "I am not much
like other people," said she; "and those who want to have anything to
do with me, must take me as I am."
"O yes," replied Emma; "if the Saviour does not refuse to take us just
as we are, I am sure we ought to receive others in the same way, and
love them too, even as he has loved us."
Very pleasantly did that summer afternoon pass away. Emma, after she
had rested awhile, thought of going home; but Fanny entreated her to
stay. She wanted to show her the bee-house, her grandfather's new
beehive, the flower-garden, and many other things. Mary dearly loved to
be near Emma; but this good little girl possessed the very best kind of
courtesy, because it was the fruit of a pure loving heart--that kind of
heart always forgetting its own wishes, in gratifying the wishes of
another. Mary was always happy, but it was a sweet reflex happiness.
She loved Emma, and dearly loved to hear her talk; but she did not
claim the right of keeping close to her side. She sometimes lingered
far behind, as Fanny and Emma walked arm-in-arm; but there was neither
envy nor jealousy in this. She knew that Fanny was ashamed of being
kind and affectionate, and she thought it best that they should be left
to themselves; so she kept with Alice, and tried to do her good.
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