“Just in time,” she thought. “Most dropped it that time!” and she ran down again to the library.
Mamma sat listening to see if she delivered the message. Hearing her run down stairs again, she smiled, satisfied.
“Oh, papa,” Cricket began, when her attention was attracted by a beautifully illustrated, new volume, which papa was unwrapping. “Isn’t that beautiful!” she exclaimed, in delight. She hung over papa’s shoulder, as he turned the pages and explained some of the lovely pictures.
Suddenly he pulled out his watch and stood up in thought for a moment.
“May I see this more?” begged Cricket.
“Yes, you may take it for a few minutes,” said papa. “Be sure you put it back on my table when you are through with it. I must step over to Brewster’s for a minute;” and papa took up some papers and left the room.
Cricket did not heed him. She threw herself on the white goat-skin before the open fire, and, with her chin in her hand, she turned the leaves of the lovely volume in absorbed interest. Papa went out, and she did not even hear the door close. Mamma did, though, and stepped to the door of the parlour. The light still streamed from the library, and she went back, supposing papa was still there.
An hour passed. About nine the bell rang violently; Cricket did not hear it. A few minutes after, mamma’s repeated “Cricket” brought her to her feet.
“Where is your father?” Mrs. Ward was saying. “Didn’t you give him my message?”
“What message?” faltered Cricket, looking bewildered.