His tone conveyed a great deal,--his tone and his eyes. They said as
plainly as words could have said,--

"I know that my mother treated you abominably, I know she is very
disagreeable; but, after all, she is helpless and alone, and if you could
only once get her to like you, and would come and see her now and then, it
would be a kindness to her, and a great help to me; and I do yearn to know
you better; and I never can, unless you will begin the acquaintance by
being on good terms with my mother."

All this Stephen's voice and eyes had said to Mercy's eyes and heart,
while his lips, pronounced the few commonplace words which were addressed
to her ear. All this Mercy was revolving in her thoughts, as she deftly
and with almost a magic touch laid the soft mosses in the earthen dish,
and planted them thick with ferns and hepatica and partridge-berry vines
and wintergreen. But all she was conscious of saying to herself was, "Mr.
White asked me to go; and it really is not civil not to do it, and I may
as well have it over with."

When Mrs. White's eyes first fell on Mercy in the doorway, they rested on
her with the same cold gaze which had so repelled her on their first
interview. But no sooner did she see the dish of mosses than her face
lighted up, and exclaiming, "Oh, where did you get those partridge-berry
vines?" she involuntarily stretched out her hands. The ice was broken.
Mercy felt at home at once, and at once conceived a true sentiment of
pity for Mrs. White, which never wholly died out of her heart. Kneeling on
the floor by her bed, she said eagerly,--

"I am so glad you like them, Mrs. White. Let me hold them down low, where
you can look at them."