I was perfectly happy till Mrs. Hunter unfastened my things by the large parlor fire, and lifted off my bonnet carefully.
Elizabeth, with her dimpled face, her sweet-set mouth, her brown curls among which the long blue ribbon floated,—for the net was a mere matter of ornament, and lay light and loose over the hair, held only by the ribbon band simply tied at the left temple,—was standing by, impatient to get me out and begin our day.
“Why, where are the long ends?” she said. And then I immediately felt as if all there was of me was that one little, short-chopped, butterfly bow.
“Mother thought—” I began, and there stopped. My lips trembled a little, and I blushed hot.
Mrs. Hunter looked sorry. “Was she quite particular?” she asked, after an instant. “Because I have another ribbon. Just for to-day, perhaps, because you like to be like Lizzie? It would be a pity not to please the child,” she said to Mrs. Marchand, her sister, who was there. She was drawing the blue ribbon from her pretty round, carved worktable, and she put out her hand to untie my little bow.
Then it came over me. I started back. “Please! No! Please not, Mrs. Hunter. Thank you—a great deal—” I stammered, in a hurry, and afraid I was dreadfully impolite,—“but mother put it on!”
I wouldn’t have had that bow with the dovetailed ends untied, that minute, for all the world.
A singular expression, I thought, passed between the faces of the two ladies. Mrs. Hunter leaned down from her chair, reached my hand, drew me to her again, and kissed me. “You are a dear little thing,” she said to me. “The little souls know best,” she said to her sister.
“When the little souls are—” but Mrs. Marchand did not say what.
I wondered why Mrs. Hunter, while she praised me,—but it was not praise either; it was better than that,—should have looked as if she pitied me so. I couldn’t think it was for the sake of the ribbon. No, indeed: I know now what it was.