Redbud had just closed her Bible, and was about to put it away upon the shelf, when a light step was heard in the room, and a laughing voice cried, “Well, miss!” and two white arms encircled her neck, two red lips imprinted a kiss upon her cheek.

The arms and the lips belonged to Fanny.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

FANNY’S VIEWS UPON HERALDRY.

Fanny was overflowing with laughter, and her face was the perfection of glee.  Her dark eyes fairly danced, and the profuse black curls which rippled around her face, were never still for a moment.

In her hand Miss Fanny carried a wreath of primroses and other children of the autumn, which spread around them as she came a faint perfume.  From the appearance of the young lady’s feet, it seemed that she had gathered them herself.  Her shoes and ankles, with their white stockings, were saturated with the dews of morning.

After imprinting upon Miss Redbud’s cheek the kiss which we have chronicled, Fanny gaily raised the yellow wreath, and deposited it upon the young girl’s head.

“There, Redbud!” she cried, “I declare, you look prettier than ever!”

Redbud smiled, with an affectionate glance at her friend.

“Oh!” cried the impulsive Fanny, “there you are, laughing at me, as much as to say that you are not pretty!  Affected!”

“Oh, no,” said Redbud.

“Well, I don’t say you are.”

“I don’t like affectation.”

“Nor I,” said Fanny; “but really, Reddy, I had no idea that yellow was so becoming to you.”

“Why?” asked Redbud, smiling.

“You are blonde, you know.”

“Well.”

“I wonder if blonde don’t mean yellow,” said the philosophic Fanny.

“Does it?”

“Yes.”

“What then?”

“Why, of course, I thought yellow primroses would’nt become you;—­now they would suit me—­I’m so dark.”

“You do not need them.”

“Fie—­Miss Flatterer.”

“Oh, no, Fanny, I never flatter.”

“Well, I’m glad you like me, then!” cried Fanny, “for I declare I’m desperately in love with you, Reddy.  Just think, now, how much flattered Miss Sallianna would have been if I had carried these flowers to her—­you know she loves the ‘beauties of nature.’”

And Miss Fanny assumed a languishing air, and inclining her head upon one shoulder, raised her eyes lackadaisically toward the ceiling, in imitation of Miss Sallianna.

“No, Fanny!” said Redbud, “that is not right.”

“What?”

“Mimicking Miss Sallianna.”

“Not right!”

“No, indeed.”

“Well, I suppose it is not, and I have been treating her very badly.  Suppose I take your wreath of yellow primroses and carry them to her.”

“Oh, yes—­if you want to,” said Redbud, looking regretfully at the wreath, which she had taken from her brow.