The blossoms must be trailing over it, and
your right hand upon the handle. Not so. Let me show"--And as he touched
her hand to place it in the right position, I almost sprang from my
seat, I was so indignant for David.
I might have saved myself the trouble, though, for the next moment David
himself appeared, walking slowly home from the Square, with something in
a basket he was bringing for Emily. David was a good brother.
"Perfect!" exclaimed Warren, as he completed his _tableau_. "Just like
the picture, only"--And here he dropped his voice.
"David, come here," he called out, "and see which picture is the
prettiest."
Poor David! I saw that it was all he could do, to walk straight past
without speaking.
"Take them off," said Mary Ellen. "They are heavy."
And she pulled the wreath from her head.
That evening, coming home late, I saw a bright light in her room, and
glanced up, as I came near. She stood at the looking-glass between the
windows, holding a light in her hand. Upon her head, trailing down upon
her left shoulder, was a wreath of hop-blossoms. She wanted to know how
she looked in them.
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