"And then their little laughs and Oo's," said Hazel.
"And their delight day after day; and the comfort of them in their little sicknesses," said Miss Craydocke.
"And the stories that have got to be told about every picture," said Dorris.
"No; nothing really nice does end; it goes on and on," said Mrs. Ripwinkley.
"Of course!" said Hazel, triumphantly, turning on the Drummond light of her child-faith. "We're forever and ever people, you know!"
"Please paste some more flowers, Mr. Kincaid," said Rosamond, who sat next him, stitching. "I want to make an all-flower book of this. No,—not roses; I've a whole page already; this great white lily, I think. That's beautiful!"
"Wouldn't it do to put in this laurel bush next, with the bird's nest in it?"
"O, those lovely pink and white laurels! Yes. Where did you get such pictures, Miss Hazel?"
"O, everybody gave them to us, all summer, ever since we began. Mrs. Geoffrey gave those flowers; and mother painted some. She did that laurel. But don't call me Miss Hazel, please; it seems to send me off into a corner."
Rosamond answered by a little irresistible caress; leaning her head down to Hazel, on her other side, until her cheek touched the child's bright curls, quickly and softly. There was magnetism between those two.