Arriving at the Benslow house, she cast glances askance toward piazza and windows, fearing that some one might inquire her business; but it was ten-thirty in the morning, a busy time for housekeepers, and she proceeded unmolested toward the Balm-of-Gilead trees.
One hammock hung empty, its fringes stirring but lightly in the protected nook to which the trees owed their life.
The visitor caught sight of fair hair on the pillow of the second swinging couch, and continuing from the head a long black chrysalis.
She approached eagerly. King, glancing around at a sound, suddenly saw beside him a blue-clothed figure with long, white, pipe-stem legs, and white sneakers. The newcomer's red braided hair glinting in the sun was surmounted by a voluminous blue bow.
As he turned his head, the better to see his visitor, she burst forth in one breath: "I'm Miss Belinda Barry's help, Blanche Aurora Martin, Blanche Aurora for short, and I've brought you a snack, O King."
The invalid turned, chrysalis and all, the better to view the bowl being extended to him.
"Why—why"—he said, exhibiting broadly the teeth Linda had commended,—"somebody is being very kind to me."
"It's Miss Barry; but I made the jell and she sent it with her compliments. Snacks is good for folks that's sick and delicate."
As she spoke, the visitor was devouring the royal features with intent to verify her suspicion concerning the new photograph, and to understand the great man's influence on Miss Linda.
"What did you say was your name?"