“A grandmother,” I said, “of my very own!”
It seemed wonderful—like having a mother, only more majestic. I can’t explain what I felt.
And I can’t write any more just now, darling Carin. My aunt has kept warning me that I must put my pen down. So I obey. Another day you shall know the rest.
As always,
Azalea.
CHAPTER III
OWN FOLK
“Little Windows,” Mount Hebron,
October 22nd.
Carin dear:
I was not quite so well after writing you. Aunt Lorena says I mustn’t write so much at one time again till I am stronger. This is just to say that Mother McBirney has been sent for, though I can’t see how she is to leave home. Who will look after the men? Oh, how I am needed in that little house! And here I lie in this beautiful room, idle, of no use to anyone. And so sleepy! I never dreamed anyone could be so sleepy.
When I dream now, it is all about my grandmother. To think of an own grandmother! In my dreams she comes creeping softly into the room and strokes my hair. I do not believe a word they say about her being proud. I am sure she is gentle. At least, her dream-hand on my head is so.