“Everybody likes one best,” explained Ben, with the wisdom of ten and a half years.
After Miss Dean had told me about Susie,—continued Ruth Warren, leaning comfortably back into her chair again,—she asked me if I would like to see Susie’s dresses. I said yes, of course, and she told me to open the lower drawer of the bureau. Such a quantity of pretty things as I found! I dressed and undressed Susie to my heart’s content, putting on first a plaid silk gown, then a checked blue-and-white gingham and a funny little Red Riding-hood suit; and finally I put Susie back into her white nightgown, for I felt that Miss Dean would probably rather choose her dress for the day. And very soon I said I must go.
“Can’t you stop and have a little bit of dinner—a kind of lunch—with me?” Miss Dean asked. “If you will put some biscuits into the oven to warm, and make some tea, I will dress myself, and we can have that with some cold ham and jelly.”
I said I could stay,—for I knew grandmother wouldn’t mind. So Miss Dean told me where the biscuit and tea were, and by the time I had them ready, she came out into the kitchen, dressed in a gray flannel wrapper with light blue trimmings. She made me think of a doll, she was so small and so dainty;—she was one of the daintiest people I have ever known, with white, beautifully shaped hands and soft, silky hair—
“She makes me think of Elsa,” said Betty, with a little sigh, half of envy, half of appreciation.
“Don’t interrupt, please, Betty,” Elsa entreated, unmindful of what Betty had said.
Everything about Miss Dean’s house was as dainty as Miss Dean herself—resumed the story-teller;—and everything in the house seemed small, like herself,—tables, chairs, lamps, vases, kitchen stove, even the dishes we ate out of. We had a good luncheon, I remember, and Miss Dean kept me interested, as she always did, with stories of what had happened long ago. After we finished eating, she leaned her head back against her chair in a tired way—she sat at the table in a little rocking-chair—and she said in a wistful voice: “I have been thinking about my poor hens. Not a bit of corn or water have they had since yesterday, and I don’t dare go out to feed them because my head is so dizzy that I am afraid of falling.”
“O, let me feed them,” I begged instantly.
“But they will be afraid of you,” she said; “they are used to seeing my clothes.”
“I can dress up in your clothes,” I said. “O, do let me, please!”