“I like that way, and both my presents suit me exactly,” said Christie, wrapping the fleecy shawl about her, and admiring the nosegay in which her quick eye saw all her favorites, even to a plumy spray of the little wild asters which she loved so much. “Now, child, I will step down, and see about breakfast. Take thy time; for this is to be a holiday, and we mean to make it a happy one if we can.” With that the old lady went away, and Christie soon followed, looking very fresh and blithe as she ran down smiling behind her great bouquet. David was in the porch, training up the morning-glories that bloomed late and lovely in that sheltered spot. He turned as she approached, held out his hand, and bent a little as if he was moved to add a tenderer greeting. But he did not, only held the hand she gave him for a moment, as he said with the paternal expression unusually visible: “I wished you many happy birthdays; and, if you go on getting younger every year like this, you will surely have them.” It was the first compliment he had ever paid her, and she liked it, though she shook her head as if disclaiming it, and answered brightly: “I used to think many years would be burdensome, and just before I came here I felt as if I could not bear another one. But now I like to live, and hope I shall a long, long time.” “I’m glad of that; and how do you mean to spend these long years of yours?” asked David, brushing back the lock of hair that was always falling into his eyes, as if he wanted to see more clearly the hopeful face before him. “In doing what your morning-glories do,—climb up as far and as fast as I can before the frost comes,” answered Christie, looking at the pretty symbols she had chosen. “You have got on a good way already then,” began David, smiling at her fancy. “Oh no, I haven’t!” she said quickly. “I’m only about half way up. See here: I’ll tell how it is;” and, pointing to the different parts of the flowery wall, she added in her earnest way: “I’ve watched these grow, and had many thoughts about them, as I sit sewing in the porch. These variegated ones down low are my childish fancies; most of them gone to seed you see. These lovely blue ones of all shades are my girlish dreams and hopes and plans. Poor things! some are dead, some torn by the wind, and only a few pale ones left quite perfect. Here you observe they grow sombre with a tinge of purple; that means pain and gloom, and there is where I was when I came here. Now they turn from those sad colors to crimson, rose, and soft pink. That’s the happiness and health I found here. You and your dear mother planted them, and you see how strong and bright they are.” She lifted up her hand, and gathering one of the great rosy cups offered it to him, as if it were brimful of the thanks she could not utter. He comprehended, took it with a quiet “Thank you,” and stood looking at it for a moment, as if her little compliment pleased him very much.