Saturday, December 20.
Rose left us this afternoon with many protestations of affectionate regard.—
“If ever you wan’ me, jus’ call upon me, Mis’ Graham,” she said to mother. “Ah’m ready to come back any time, at $18 a mont’, and no questions arst.”
I must say it seemed rather nice to have the kitchen to ourselves, the closet shelves all tidy and ship-shape, and clean sash curtains in the windows.
I was to get my first dinner alone, for poor little Robin had had a wretched night, and been in so much pain during the day that we had finally decided to send for the doctor. He was expected at any moment, and mother had to be ready to receive him.
The potatoes were bubbling pleasantly away on the hottest part of the stove, the steak was salted and peppered on the gridiron, ready for broiling, and I had just run in to the dining-room to take a last survey of the table before sitting down to cut up the oranges, when there sounded a tap-tap on the window-pane, and looking up, I saw Hazard’s anxious face peering in at me.
Naturally I ran to the basement door to let him in.
“Is anything the matter, Haze?” I asked,—for he has a latchkey, and it seemed odd that he should tap at the window.
“Hush, Elizabeth,” he answered. “I don’t want ’em to know that I’m home just yet.” And he preceded me into the dining-room, threw his cap upon a chair, sat despairingly down on it, and buried his head in his arms across the chair-back.
“What has happened, Hazard?” I asked, anxiously.