“Hello, little girl!”
Although, as a rule, not many creatures, except birds, are looked for in trees, yet Ladybird’s mind was of the type which accepts without question, and looking up, she called back, “Hello!” though she could see of the person addressed only some pink muslin and a small swinging slipper.
“What do you want?” said the voice again, and a pretty, smiling face appeared above the pink muslin.
“I don’t want anything,” said Ladybird; “I’m just taking a walk.”
“Oh, well, if you’ve walked from Primrose Hall ’way over here, you must be tired. Won’t you come up here and sit by me?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Ladybird; and she easily swung herself up the crooked old boughs of the apple-tree, and seated herself facing her hostess, who proved to be a very charming young woman indeed.
“Aren’t you the little girl who lives with the Flint ladies?” she said.
“Yes,” said Ladybird; “they’re my aunts.”
“I am Stella Russell, and I live on this farm, which is next to Primrose Place. I live with my grandfather and grandmother.”
“Oh, haven’t you any mother, either?” said Ladybird, quickly, and her little brown paw slid into the girl’s white hand.