“You see, this is the only sitting-room besides Jim’s den,” continued Frances hastily; “and Mamma and I have to share a bedroom. I’ve been wondering where I shall pop my mammoth work-basket.”
“Oh, Frances! Your beautiful Altruist basket!” Florry saw her friend wince, and, running across the room, threw her arms about the other lassie and hugged her close. “Come back to us, Francy dear! oh, do! You were the first Altruist, and the best—”
“Ah, no, no!” cried Frances, with a tremble in her voice; “I was just a great humbug—a mean pretender!”
“You never were. You started it all; and, Frances, it has been of some use to Woodend. The Rector says so, and Mr. Carlyon, and Dr. Brenton, and—Max. If Max says so—who would dispute Max? Francy, all the girls and boys want you to come back.”
“I can’t till I’m gooder,” said Frances, wavering between sobs and smiles. “I’m a shabby, horrid thing! Florry, don’t let’s talk of those jolly old times—before last Christmas. See! I’m going to work hard. I won’t say another word till I’ve finished.”
Florry could both see and hear that the resolve was a wise one; so she went sedately back to her books, and was in the thick of “business” when the sitting-room door was pushed open and Mrs. Macbean entered.
The girls at once greeted the old woman,—whom they had seen more than once when they had paid holiday visits to the smithy,—with a pleasant word and smile.
“I hae made a bit dinner for ye, Missies,” said Elizabeth, striving after the manners she considered due to gentlefolk, “and I hae pit doon the table-claith, as the maister’s bidding was, in the room on the ither side o’ the passage. Maybe ye’ll ring the bell yonder when ye’re minded for me to serve ye.”
“Oh, Elizabeth, you are good!” said Frances gratefully. “We meant to go home for dinner; but it is a long way, isn’t it, Florry?”
“Rather! And we’ve such lots to do. Elizabeth—best of Elizabeths!—do say we are to have some of those delicious scones you brought to us once when we came here to plague you!”