It was cold in the company-room, and any moment Marie might come and take her away. She was always a little pressed for time.
“I must be going,” she said, “or Marie will come. Good-bye. Give my love to the baby.” She always sent her love to the baby in the beautiful Lady’s arms.
The Child’s home, though luxurious, had to her the effect of being a double tenement. An invisible partition divided her father’s side from her mother’s; her own little white room, with Marie’s alcove, seemed to be across the dividing line, part on one side, part on the other. She could remember when there had not been any invisible partition, but the intensity of her little mental life since there had been one had dimmed the beautiful remembrance. It seemed to her now as a pleasant dream that she longed to dream again.
The next day the Child loved her father, for it was Tuesday. She went about it in her thorough, conscientious little way. She had made out a little programme. At the top of the sheet, in her clear, upright hand, was, “Ways to Love My farther.” And after that:
- “1. Bringing in his newspaper.
- “2. Kissing Him goodmorning.
- “3. Rangeing his studdy table.
- “4. Putting flours on " "
- “5. Takeing up His male.
- “6. Reeching up to rub My cheak against his cheak.
- “7. Lerning to read so I can read His Books.”
There were many other items. The Child had used three pages for her programme. The last two lines read:
- “Praing for Him.
- “Kissing Him goodnight.”
The Wednesday programme was almost identical with this one, with the exception of “my mother” instead of “my farther.” For the Child did not wish to be partial. She had always had a secret notion that it would be a little easier to read her mother’s books, but she meant to read just as many of her “farther’s.”
During the morning she went in to the Lady and reported progress so far. Her cheeks were a delicate pink with excitement, and she panted a little when she spoke.
“I’m getting along splendidly,” she said, smiling up at the beautiful face. “Perhaps—of course I can’t tell for sure, but I’m not certain but that he will like it after he gets used to it. You have to get used to things. He liked the flowers, and when I rubbed my cheek ’gainst his, and when I kissed him. How I know he did is because he smiled—I wish my father would smile all the time.”