“Now, tell me,” said Helen, “how your little sister injured her foot.” So Randy told her the whole story, and blamed herself more than she deserved. “If I hadn’t been wishing that I had a big, beautiful hat like”—but here Randy stopped abruptly, as she noticed, for the first time, that Miss Dayton was wearing the very hat and dress which so filled her mind that morning.
“What was the hat like? Anything like the one I am wearing this morning?” asked Helen, sweetly.
“Well, yes, just like it,” admitted Randy, blushing.
“Did you so much admire my hat?” said Helen. “Well, who knows but that on some fine day you may have one quite like it.”
When, at last, they had reached Randy’s home, both Prue and Randy had become quite well acquainted with their new friend.
Mr. Weston had just come in from the field, in answer to a blast from the dinner horn, and was as anxious as his wife when told that the children had been gone two hours and a half. “I guess I’ll have to harness up and go down to the store and see if they’re—sakes alive! Here they be now, with that ’stonishing pretty boarder of Obadiah Gray’s,” and Mr. Weston hastened down the walk to thank the young lady for her kindness.
“I’m much ’bleeged to ye for bringing the children home; mother and I was getting anxious. Randy, here, is going on fifteen, and pretty tall of her age, but we still call them the children, and Randy, she’s reliable; so, when she don’t appear at the right time, we know that something’s up. Why, Prue, where’s your shoe and stocking?”
“Oh, father,” said Randy, “you won’t say I was reliable this time.”
“Now, Mr. Weston,” said Helen Dayton, “Randy blames herself for Prue’s injured foot, but she has bravely carried her little sister up the long hill from the store, and I think accuses herself too harshly.”
“Like enough,” said Randy’s father. “Randy’s conscience is all out of proportion to her size.” Then, once more thanking Helen heartily for her kindness, he took little Prue into his arms saying, kindly: “There, there, little daughter, I wouldn’t cry any more. You’re home now, and mother’ll know just how to fix your foot all right; and, Randy, ye may have let yer thoughts wander, so to speak, but you didn’t make Prue hurt her foot, and ye’ve more than made up fer it all by bein’ so truly sorry, and tryin’ to bring her home. She’s a little girl, but she’s solid for a girl of your size to carry. ‘Stead of blamin’ and accusin’ yourself, you just help mother to make Prue comfortable, and then you amuse her with the fairy book, and, may be, she’ll forget how bad her foot aches.”