"I reckon it will, deary," Mrs. Boyd agreed, "so I won't urge you to stay longer. Father, you just whistle to Colin to bring Fanny 'round."
Hilary followed her sister into the bedroom. "You'll be over soon,
Paul?"
Pauline, putting on her hat before the glass, turned quickly. "As soon as I can. Hilary, don't you like her?"
Hilary balanced herself on the arm of the big, old-fashioned rocker. "I think so. Anyway, I love to watch her talk; she talks all over her face."
They went out to the gig, where Mr. and Mrs. Boyd and Shirley were standing. Shirley was feeding Fanny with handfuls of fresh grass. "Isn't she a fat old dear!" she said.
"She's a fat old poke!" Pauline returned. "Mayn't I give you a lift?
I can go 'round by the manor road 's well as not."
Shirley accepted readily, settling herself in the gig, and balancing her pail of milk on her knee carefully.
"Good-by," Pauline called. "Mind, you're to be ever and ever so much better, next time I come, Hilary."
"Your sister has been sick?" Shirley asked, her voice full of sympathetic interest.
"Not sick—exactly; just run down and listless."