The child ran upstairs.
"A self-willed little thing," commented Rachel, "and she has much temper."
"But a great deal of sweetness withal. And she hath been much petted. She will feel strange for a few days. Be kindly affectioned toward her."
Rachel made no reply. She went to the kitchen where Chloe had her master's supper prepared, a very simple one to-night on account of the fever, and carried it in. Then she blew a long blast on the horn, which she had forgotten in her surprise at seeing Primrose clinging to Andrew's hand.
When Primrose reached the little room her old feelings returned. She frowned on the parcel lying on the floor, as if it were an alien thing that she would like to hide away. There were several shelves in the closet and some hooks at one end. Oh, here were some frocks she had worn last summer, homespun goods! A pair of clumsy shoes, larger than those she had on, and she gave them a little kick.
Grandmother was in the living room, sitting by the window. Very pale and frail she looked.
"Faith," she said. "Faith," in a tremulous voice.
"I am not Faith. My name is Primrose Henry," and the child came nearer with a vague curiosity.
"No, thou art not a true Henry with that trifling name. The Henrys were sober, discreet people, fearing the Lord and serving Him. What didst thou say?" lapsing in memory and looking up with frightened eyes. "Thou art a strange girl and I want Faith."
She began to cry with a soft, sad whine.