“I heard my name!” she cried. “Oh, Betsy, I’ve just learned about you!”
In an instant the two were locked in each other’s arms, while Mrs. Pogram, her mouth open, her eyes winking as if to dispel cobwebs, leaned back in her chair.
“Do you see my visitor?” asked Betsy.
“Why, Auntie Pogram! You?” said the girl; and hastening to the sombre figure, she kissed her. “I was coming to see you to-day,” she went on. “It was my first opportunity. Everything has happened so fast.”
“You’re—” stammered Mrs. Pogram amazedly, “you’re livin’ in Fairport, Rosalie?”
“Yes, at the inn.”
If it were possible for Mrs. Pogram’s back to cling more limply to her chair, it did so now.
The girl laughed. “Yes, it’s a fairy story, Auntie Pogram, but I’m living at the inn and paying for my board in the pleasantest way.”
“Waitin’ on table?” asked Mrs. Pogram.
“No;” the girl flushed and laughed. “Speaking pieces, just the way I used to do for you.”