Fanny Hetherton had given it her whole care, aided and abetted by Dr.
Bellamy, what time he could spare from Lucy, who, imbued with a mortal
fear of insects, seemed this day to gather scores of bugs and worms
upon her dress and hair, screaming with every worm and bringing the
doctor obediently to her aid.
"I'd stay at home, I think, if I was silly enough to be afraid of a
harmless caterpillar like that," Fanny had said, as with her own hands
she took from Lucy's curls and threw away a thousand-legged thing, the
very sight of which made poor Lucy shiver but did not send her to the
house.
She was too much interested and too eagerly expectant of what the
afternoon would bring, and so she perched herself upon the fence where
nothing but ants could molest her, and finished the bouquets which
Fanny hung upon the trees until the lower limbs seemed one mass of
blossoms and the air was filled with the sweet perfume.
Lucy was bewitchingly beautiful that afternoon in her dress of white,
her curls tied up with a blue ribbon, and her fair arms bare nearly to
the shoulders. Fanny, whose arms were neither plump nor white, had
expostulated with her cousin upon this style of dress, suggesting that
one as delicate as she could not fail to take a heavy cold when the
dews began to fall, but Lucy would not listen.
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