“I suppose so,” said Miss Dorinda.
“We could get the ice-cream from the village,” said Miss Priscilla, who had already begun to see the party in its details.
“Yes,” said her sister, eagerly; “and I could make my sunshine cake, and Martha could make cookies. It would be a very nice party.”
“And they could play games on the lawn,” said Miss Priscilla; “that wouldn’t make the house quite so topsyturvy.”
“Well, let us go and find the child and tell her about it,” said Dorinda; “I’m sure she’ll be pleased.”
Meantime Ladybird, holding Cloppy fast in her arms, had gone up-stairs. Angry tears were rolling down her cheeks, and her whole thin little frame was shaking with sobs.
“It’s awful,” she whispered as she buried her face in the dog’s soft, silky hair; “it’s just awful; and I wish I could find a place where you and I could get away from everybody.”
She turned toward the great linen-closet, opened the door and went in. The piles of lavender-scented linen looked very cool and pleasant, and throwing Cloppy over her shoulder, which was one of his favorite positions, Ladybird climbed, with a monkey-like agility, up the broad shelves until she reached the top one. There she curled herself up in a little heap, pillowing her head on the dog, and the dog on a pile of sheets. Being thus comfortably settled, she indulged in one of her first-class crying spells, a thing so turbulent and volcanic that it defies all description. It was during this performance that the aunts came up-stairs in search of their agonized niece.
Ladybird had no intention of responding to their repeated call, but her tumultuous sobs easily guided the old ladies to her hiding-place.
“Come down, Lavinia,” said Miss Priscilla, sternly, as she saw her precious linen in imminent danger of being spoiled by the tears of her weeping niece; “come down at once.”