And there was a fierce energy in her look that said far more than her words.
“Oh, Kitty, darlin’, I wondher will I live to see it?”
Apparently, this consummation was not which held chief sway over her mind, for she was now busy making a wreath of flowers for her head.
“Won’t the gardener be angry, darlin’, at your pluckin’ the roses and the big pinks?”
“Let him, if he dare. Miss Ada told him a while ago that I was to go everywhere, and take anything just like herself; and I can eat the fruit, the apples, and the pears, and the grapes that you see there, but I wouldn’t because Ada didn’t,” said she, gravely.
“You’ll do, Kitty—you’ll do,” said the old man; and his eyes swam with tears of affection and joy.
“You begin to think so now, grandfather,” said she, archly.
“And so I may go in now and tell them that you’ll stay.”
“You may go in, Peter Malone, and tell them that I won’t go, and that’s better.”
The old man stepped back, and, turning her round full in front of him, stood in wondering admiration of her for some seconds.