It was a lovely morning; all a blaze of sun-shine, and such a blue sky overhead. Every leaf was sprinkled with big drops of dew wherever there was shade; and the birds were singing like wild. It did seem sad that the poor thing indoors should suffer so much. I stood still a moment, thinking of her, with a feeling as if it was selfish of me to enjoy the sweet air as I did. Then I saw the morning express was signalled, and I waited to see it rush thundering past, though there was no need this time for me to wave a red flag of warning.
When the train was gone, I thought I would take one little run to the end of the path on the top of the embankment, just to freshen up myself for the rest of my work. I was so used to a breath of fresh air early, when mother could spare me.
So I ran, not looking ahead; and all at once I found myself close to Mr. Russell.
He was sitting on the bench beside the gate; the same bench where I had found mother's red shawl that other day. He seemed perfectly wretched. I never saw any man look more miserable than he did just then, dropping the corners of his mouth, and hanging his head, as if he'd got no spirit to sit up.
The moment when I caught sight of him was just the moment when he caught sight of me, and that wasn't till I was near.
"Kitty!" says he, and a sort of groan came with the word. He had never called me so before, but I suppose he forgot. "Kitty," he said, "how is my poor Mary?"
"O I think she's a little better," I said. "Not worse, and that is something."
"Mr. Baitson been again?" he asked.
"Not since breakfast," I said.
"Poor Mary!" says Mr. Russell, and he sighed like a furnace.