"I'm very glad to see you, my dear," said Miss Adams, kissing the wistful little face; "you are welcome to the old farm."
"I've never seen a farmhouse before," said Delight, as she glanced round at the old mahogany furniture and brass candlesticks shining in the firelight from the big fireplace; "and, oh, isn't it beautiful!"
Miss Adams was much pleased at this honest compliment to her old home, and she patted Delight's shoulder, as she said: "I'm sure we shall be great friends, you and I. Run away now, with Marjorie, and lay off your wraps in the north bedroom."
The girls went up the short turning staircase, and into a quaint old-fashioned bedroom, with four-poster bed, chintz hangings, and fine old carved furniture.
"Isn't it strange?" said Delight, looking about. "I suppose the ladies
who used to live here are dead and gone. I mean, the old ancestors of
Miss Adams. Let's play we're them, Marjorie. You be Priscilla and I'll be
Abigail."
"Not very pretty names," said Midget, doubtfully.
"Oh, yes, they are. I'll call you Prissy and you call me Abby. I'll be knitting, and you can be spinning on that spinning-wheel."
The others had gone downstairs, but forgetting all about them, Delight sat herself stiffly in one of the high-backed old chairs, and knitted industriously, with invisible yarn and only her own slender little fingers for needles.
Always ready for make-believe play Marjorie sat at the spinning-wheel,—on the wrong side, to be sure, but that didn't matter.
"Are you going to the ball at Squire Harding's?" said Delight, in a prim voice.