Rebellious robins chattered on the eaves. A fitful wind swept rudely over the fields. Virginia, with unseeing eyes on the low-smouldering fire, caressed the bit of blue cloth in her hands with absent, slow-moving fingers. Anon she lifted and examined it closely. It seemed to her that the lion on the coat of arms might have been better done. She remembered an old print of Daniel in the lions’ den which was in the big family Bible. Therein the king of beasts was, she thought, far more ably depicted. This lion had an inane expression, owing probably to the two black dots which stood for his fierce eyes, a paucity of mane, and a superfluity of tail which struck her as undignified. Suddenly she burst out laughing. Peal after peal of the merry, staccato sound rang through the winding passageways above, and echoed down into the lower halls; ripple upon ripple of wild merriment; a rush, an abandonment of jollity, in which she had not indulged for many a day. She tried in vain to stop. She could not. That little oblong lion with his much-curled tail was too much for her. Ha! ha! Oh, how funny—how funny it was! and how she enjoyed a good laugh! And was it not far, far better to laugh than to cry? Oh, that funny, funny, funny little beast! How merry he made her, how jolly, how care-free, once more!
A voice rang out suddenly, calling her name: “Faginia! O-o-o-o Faginia! O-o-o-o Faginia!”
Startled into sudden gravity, she slipped the cap into the breast of her brown stuff gown, and went to the door.
“That you, father?”
“Yase, ’tis. What ’n th’ name o’ goodness ’r’ you hyahhyahin’ ’bout up thar all by yo’self? Howsomdever, the beauty of the question air, thar’s a young lady down here as wants ter see you, an’ I’d never ’a’ knowed yo’ was in the house ef yo’ hadn’ been goin’ on like a wil’-cat with the stomach-ache.”
“Who is it?” said Virginia.
Back came the name in strident unmistakable syllables, “Miss—Ma-ry—Er-roll.”
There was a second’s pause.
“I’ll be down in a minute,” Virginia called back.