Then she pulled herself together, and sat up.
"I can't think why I'm so silly. Isn't it silly of me! I'm cold, I think,—all of a shiver! It's you that ought to cry, not me. There's nobody belonging to me in danger."
Mimy said nothing. She only hold Jessie fast.
"And you mustn't say anything to anybody, not one word, about how stupid I've been. Promise me, Mimy—not one single word to anybody. I've no business to be so silly."
"No, I won't," Mimy answered. She would not remind Jessie of what was evidently forgotten,—the presence of the little dressmaker.
"I ought to go home. Aunt Barbara will wonder what ever has become of me."
"But mother asked you to stop here, just till somebody comes. It won't be long now."
Nor was it long. As the two girls clung together, each hiding her face from the other, approaching footsteps became audible. Another moment, and the shop-bell rang sharply with the opening of the door. That was no customer, however; and Mimy did not stir. Mrs. Groates walked in, her face agitated, yet joyous. A variety of feelings seemed to be striving for the mastery.
"Mother, is it true?"
"Poor boy! Yes. But it might have been worse; it might have been a deal worse, Mimy."