“Thank you, oh, thank you,” cried Elsa, with thoughtful courtesy, while little Alice smiled and looked more than ever like a dimple-faced doll.
Sarah’s curls were bobbing excitedly as she went out of the room, saying under her breath: “The cunnin’ little dears!”
“Please, please, the story now,” entreated Betty.
“Guess I won’t paint to-day,” Ben announced. “May I lie down by the fire again?”
“Yes,—take a cushion and take some buns, Ben,” Ruth Warren answered, moving her chair aside.
“Let me do that,” said Ben, springing instantly to help.
“Thank you,” returned Miss Ruth. Then, seating herself, she said: “Now I will go on with the story.”
By nine o’clock the next morning, I was teasing my grandmother to let me start for Miss Dean’s. But it was almost eleven before Jenny, the cook, had the broth and little cakes and jelly in a basket for me to carry to Miss Dean. I remember hurrying so fast over the uneven, snowy street that I spilled some of the broth.
Miss Dean saw me coming and opened the front door the moment I set foot on the top step. She was dressed in a soft gray cloth gown and she looked ever so much better than she had the day before, in fact her cheeks were quite pink and her eyes sparkled as she said: “I thought that as I had been ill and you were coming again to see me, we would have a party; and I have invited Susie to the party.”
The bedroom—or the sitting-room as it really was except in winter—looked very cozy. Miss Dean had spread a bright-coloured silk patchwork quilt over the bed, and there in the little rocking-chair, near by, sat Susie in a white muslin dress looped up with tiny pink rosebuds over a blue satin skirt.