“The bread's gone, too. I've e't up—”
“Timothy Leavitt, are you going to let us in?” laughed his sister, though there were two red spots blooming in her cheeks. What would Timmie say next! She led the way through the tiny hall into a big, bright room whose centerpiece was a frail, smiling little woman with a lapful of calico bits. She held out both her hands to Glory.
“Don't tell me who she is, Diantha. As if I didn't know! My dear, my dear, I am very glad you have come. I have hoped you would, ever since your path crossed Di's, and—”
“Glorified it, mamma.”
“Yes, glorified it—that is it. Take off your things, dear, and just feel snug and at home.”
And thus the little home opened its arms to dainty Glory. The welcome extended was as gracious and as perfect a hospitality as could have been found in the grandest home in the land. There was no luxury or even plenty. But Glory saw instantly there was the happiness that goes with love. It was her awakening. A new wonder filled the girl's heart that poverty and happiness could live together like this. While Di was busy she mused.
“I thought poor people fretted and grumbled. I know I should. I shouldn't be sunshiny and nice like this. And they open their doors into their poor, bare, empty rooms and bid me welcome just as beautifully as Aunt Hope would do to our house. It is beautiful. Just beautiful! It's a bit of heaven right down here in this little unpainted house.”
Diantha put on a big apron and rolled up her sleeves. “I'm going out and make some muffins,” she smiled. “Timmie, you stay here.”
“Yes,” said Glory, “Timmie'll stay with me. Can't we play something—we two?”
“Uncrutchit!” demanded Tiny Tim eagerly.