“Good morning. I’m Gypsy Breynton. Mother sent me down with a magazine.”
“I am glad to see you,” said Peace Maythorne, smiling. “Won’t you sit down?”
Gypsy took a chair by the bed, thinking how pleasant the old, pale face, was, after all, and how kindly and happy the smile.
“Your mother is very kind,” said Peace; “she is always doing something for me. She has given me a great deal to read.”
“Do you like to read?—I don’t,” said Gypsy.
“Why, yes!” said Peace, opening her eyes wide; “I thought everybody liked to read. Besides I can’t do anything else, you know.”
“Nothing at all?” asked Gypsy.
“Only sometimes, when the pain isn’t very bad, I try to help aunt about her sewing, I can’t do much.”
“Oh, you live with your aunt?” said Gypsy.
“Yes. She takes in sewing. She’s out, just now.”