As they left the table, Miss Storey said to her sister—"I think, my dear Anne, that as Hecla has forgotten so many things to-day which she ought to have remembered, we will put off telling her our news until to-morrow."
"Perhaps it will be best," assented gentle Aunt Anne.
"What news, auntie?" cried Hecla. "I do love news. Oh, please tell me."
"Not to-day, Hecla. To-morrow, perhaps, if you are a good child."
"Auntie Millicent, I will be good. I'll be most dreadfully good, if only you'll tell me."
"We shall see," said Miss Storey. "Now you must go upstairs."
After dinner, Hecla always had to lie down on her bed for an hour, as her back was not very strong. Aunt Anne often came to read to her, which she loved, or to talk with her, which she counted still more delightful; but to-day for once Aunt Anne failed to appear.
So Hecla lay and pondered, kicking her legs about with impatience, as she tried to imagine what the news could possibly be. She worried and worried, guessed and guessed, ransacked her little brain for ideas, and felt as if she really did not know how to wait such a tremendous length of time as a whole afternoon and evening and night.
Was it something to do with Chris? Or was it something to do with Trip? Or had somebody sent her a nice present? Hecla loved presents. Or was someone coming to pay the aunts a visit? That did not happen often, but it was nice when it did happen. Or was there to be an excursion somewhere? What could it be?