CHAPTER XIV
ANNE AND MILLICENT
Anne had sprung up from her seat so quickly that she did not think of her book, pen, or ink. Her arm had given the book a careless push, sending it against and overturning the ink-bottle, and she had dropped the pen on the white paper, where it made a long ugly blot.
Rose had been quick to seize the bottle before it rolled to the floor, and was now using a big dusting cloth to wipe up the ink. Her attention was so taken with this that she did not really know what was happening, when the sound of Millicent crying made her look quickly around.
“What is the matter?” she asked, turning toward the little girls.
Anne, with her hands over her face, was evidently crying; and Millicent, grasping the wooden doll with both hands, was making as much noise as she possibly could in a series of half-angry little sobs.
“Millicent, stop this minute,” said Rose, going toward them, “and you, too, Anne, and tell me what you are crying about,” and, quite forgetting the inky cloth in her hand, Rose took hold of Anne’s arm.
Anne looked up, the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“There, there,” said Rose, wiping Anne’s face, and leaving it almost blacker than the cloth. “Oh, what have I done!” exclaimed Rose, while Millicent’s sobs ceased for a moment to be followed by a shriek of terror to see Anne’s face turn black so suddenly. “Stop, Millicent,” said Rose. “Come down-stairs, Anne, and I’ll wash the ink off. And tell me what the matter is.”
“Rose! Rose!” called Mrs. Freeman from the floor below. “What is the matter?”