On the Church Steps

What a picture she was as she sat there, my own Bessie! and what a strange place it was to rest on, those church steps! Behind us lay the Woolsey woods, with their wooing fragrance of pine and soft rushes of scented air; and the lakes were in the distance, lying very calm in the cloud-shadows and seeming to wait for us to come. But to-day Bessie would nothing of lakes or ledges: she would sit on the church steps. In front of us, straight to the gate, ran a stiff little walk of white pebbles, hard and harsh as some bygone creed. "Think of little bare feet coming up here, Bessie!" I said with a shiver. "It is too hard. And every carriage that comes up the hill sees us." "And why shouldn't they see us?" said my lady, turning full upon me. "I am not ashamed to be here." "Churches should always have soft walks of turf; and lovers," I would fain have added, "should have naught but whispering leaves about them." But Bessie cut me short in her imperious way: "But we are not lovers this morning: at least," with a half-relenting look at my rueful face, "we are very good friends, and I choose to sit here to show people that we are."