I was almost as happy when out
of doors with her as when I was with my father. She had the same
eloquence in her silences; and when she spoke, it was with a sympathy
that played upon one's whole perception, as a harp is swept
inclusively of every string by an eager hurry of music. Still, aunt
Ebie seemed to love moss and leaves as much as some people love souls,
and I thought she had chosen them as the least dangerous objects of
affection; whereas my father seemed most to love souls, and would have
saved mine or another's at the expense of all the forests and vines of
Eden.
To Miss Peabody I wrote of this visit in a manner which shows its
reviving effect upon me:--
MY DEAR AUNT LIZZIE,--I like to get your letters, as they tell about
everything which everybody does not do. What a pleasant time I did
have with aunt Ebie Hawthorne last summer! It was last summer; and all
the lovely flowers were nodding, and the sun shone with all its might,
and we each took a basket and a book and stayed all the afternoon. We
brought home heaps of flowers and greens. I never had such a pleasant
time here in the woods. In England my nurse Fanny and I used to take
long walks on Sunday through the lanes, or into the parks; and take
baskets and pick baskets full of daisies, pink-and-white. Then we
went into the endless lanes, long, without a single sign of house or
cottage (until we came to walk so far as to come to a little village).
Nobody came along in rattling gigs or carriages; on Sunday you would
not meet a person.
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