A sweet trilling baby-voice called, “Etta, I’se ’wake.”
Instantly their strange hostess was on her feet, her eyes love-lighted, her voice eager. “I’ll bring her out. It’s warm here in the sunshine.”
While Etta was gone, Mary and Dora exchanged despairing glances which seemed to say, “We’ve come to a hurdle that we can’t jump over.” Aloud they said nothing, for, almost at once Etta reappeared. In her arms was a two-year-old; a pretty child with sleep-flushed cheeks, corn-flower blue eyes and tousled hair as yellow as cornsilk. Etta’s expression told her love and pride in her little darling.
Baby Bess gazed unsmilingly at Dora as though she knew that here was someone who did not care for dolls, then she turned to look at Mary. Instantly she leaned toward her and held out both chubby arms, her sudden smile sweet and trusting.
Dora, watching Etta, saw a fleeting change of expression. What was it? Could Etta be jealous? But no, it wasn’t that, for she gave Mary her first real smile of friendship.
“Baby Bess likes you,” she said. “That means you must be very nice. Would you like to hold her?”
“Humph!” Dora thought as she watched Mary reseating herself on the stump and gathering the small child into her arms, “I reckon then I’m not nice.”
After that, with the child contentedly nestling in Mary’s arms, the ice melted in the conversational stream. Of her own accord Etta spoke of school. She asked how far along the girls were and astonished them by telling what she was doing, subjects far in advance of them.
Then came the surprising information that her father and mother had both been college graduates and had taught her. She had never attended a school. She in turn taught the twins. Then, in a burst of confidence which Dora rightly guessed was very foreign to her reserved nature, Etta said, “My father lost a fortune four years ago. He made very unwise investments. After that Mother’s health failed and we came West. Dad did not know how to earn money. He grew old very suddenly,” then, once again, despair made her face far older than her years. She threw her arms wide. “All this tells the rest of our story.”
Mary’s blue eyes held tears of sympathy which she hid in the child’s yellow curls. Etta would not want sympathy.