"But I shall not marry. I shall be gay and frisky all my first years; then I shall take to some solid employment, perhaps write a volume of letters or chatty journal and say sharp things about my neighbors, wear a high cap and spectacles, and keep a cat who will scratch every guest. There, is it not a delightful picture?"
"Go and write thy letters, saucy girl. All the men will fear thy tongue, that is hung so it swings both ways."
"Like the bells on the old woman's fingers and toes, 'It makes music wherever I go.' Is not that a pretty compliment? Polly Wharton's brother gave it to me. Ah, if my brother had been like that!"
"Do not say hard or naughty things to him, moppet. What is past is past."
Primrose Henry's brother was greatly moved by some traces of tears he found in the epistle, and he was so hungering for the comforts of a little affection that he started at once.
She was much troubled now about her cousin's return. For Friend Henry had fallen into a strange way and the doctor said he would never be any better. The fall had numbed his spine and gradually affected his limbs. He gave up going out, and could hardly hobble about the two rooms. Some days he lay in bed all the time, and scarcely spoke, sleeping and seeming dazed. Lois watched over him and waited on him with the utmost devotion.
"Is that the voice of the child Primrose?" he asked sharply one morning as she was cheerfully bidding Chloe and Rachel good-day.
"Yes. Wouldst thou like to see her?"
He nodded. But when Primrose came in he stared and shook his head.
"That is Bessy Wardour. I want the child Primrose," he mumbled slowly.