“Yes, so your father said. But she must know something, or how could she predict when they are going to occur?”
“She’s always predicting them,” laughed Hattie. “Even when there aren’t any. And sometimes when it’s just a fire to toast marshmallows she gets all excited and swears it’s the wrath of heaven descending on Shady Nook.”
“She came and warned us about the Smiths’,” put in Jane.
“She probably saw the flames. Sometimes she gets up in the middle of the night and goes out with her pitcher. She was probably wandering around that night. I guess that’s how she caught her sore throat.”
Mary Louise nodded. “Could we go upstairs and see her when you take up her broth?” she inquired.
“Sure. But I’m afraid you won’t get much sense out of her today. She has a slight fever, and her mind’s wandering a lot.”
Nevertheless, the girls followed Hattie up the carpeted staircase to a room on the second floor. The blinds at the windows were pulled down, but they could see Rebecca’s face, surrounded by its tangled gray curls, on the pillow. She was muttering to herself when they entered the door.
“Here’s some chicken broth for you, Rebecca,” said Hattie cheerfully. “And a couple of visitors.”
The woman stared at the girls blankly, and then shook her head.
“Don’t know them,” she remarked.