“Illa can’t read to you now,” she said. “Poor Illa’s sick.”
“’Tain’t your Illa,” said the child obstinately.
“My dear,” Miss Armitage began soothingly, kissing the tremulous lips, “you are going home with me. It has been dreadful I know, but you must try to forget it. Jane will be glad to have you and Dr. Richards will comfort you. Don’t you remember what a nice time we had last summer? There dear—little Cinderella.”
Marina smiled faintly through her tears.
“Oh, I am so glad. It was so sudden you know, and when she stretched out her hands.”
“She must have known you, and after all it was sweet to be remembered then. Are you very weak? But I’m afraid you couldn’t walk to Loraine place.”
“I’m so—so shaky—”
Aunt Florence entered the room and snatched the bell from Violet. “You must not make such a noise,” she declared. “Oh Miss Armitage, you are always shocked by a death, 229 aren’t you? And poor Aunt Hetty has been dying the last week, though the doctor said she did not really suffer. But she’s past eighty and that’s a good long life. I do wonder if she really knew she was calling for Marilla, and the poor child has had a bad time. How good of you to offer to take her for awhile. Funerals are so dismal to a child.”
“I think I had better have a cab,” said the guest. “Will you kindly telephone for one?”
Miss Borden assented. Then she brought a frock for Marilla, and between them they had her dressed. Violet tumbled her box of blocks on the floor and began kicking them around.