“No,—only I know anybody so nice as Miss Dean will be the same at the end,” Elsa said, with a very earnest expression in her eyes.
“I’ll bet I know what was in that box,” cried Ben, from his position on the centre of the rug.
“What?” asked Betty.
“Hens’ eggs to hatch,” Ben replied confidently.
“The idea!” exclaimed Betty. “Just as if Miss Dean would have given a girl hens’ eggs for a present! Now keep still, Ben.”
“We can have only a bit more of the story to-day, because it is almost five o’clock,” said Miss Ruth, putting her hand softly over Betty’s mouth, which began to frame an objecting “O!” Then she continued:
When I came home from Miss Dean’s, grandmother felt dreadfully to think that the little old lady had been ill there all alone by herself. “I must send her some nourishing things to eat,” said grandmother; “I would have Barker go now”—he was the hired man—“but he is off hauling wood, and Jenny”—that was his wife—“has a bad cold.”
I said “O, grandmother, let me go!” For I was wondering, harder than ever, what was in the lacquered box. But grandmother said, “No, child, you have been out enough to-day in this bad walking. You may go over, though, early in the morning.”
The clock pealed out five as Miss Ruth stopped with these words.
“Just a little more,” urged Betty.