And for once the boy obeyed, and submitted to be so equipped, Phil taking him under his especial care and leading the way to his bedroom. Anon, when he descended the stairs, longing for tidings of Inna, Phil grinning slily behind him at his second self, out stepped Long from somewhere, and told him the little lady had come out of her swoon, and they had given her something comforting, and tucked her up in bed. “Madame Giche’s compliments to Dr. Willett, and they would take good care of her till to-morrow.” Then Phil appeared with a cup of steaming coffee, which Long made him drink before he left; then he set forth homeward.
Willett’s Farm was more dreary that evening than ever before, with little cheery Inna away, if she had only known it. But she was sweetly sleeping all the evening, in a bed hastily wheeled in to keep company with Long’s; and when, at midnight, she awoke to find herself there, [p65] Long bending over her, the fire-light rosy on the hearth, a shaded lamp somewhere behind her, you may be sure she felt like a story-book heroine, not herself. Still she was herself, and when she had taken some soup, been told that Oscar had gone home, and she was at the Owl’s Nest, she fell asleep, and woke the next morning to breakfast in bed. After this she dressed herself, and went down to form the acquaintance of Madame Giche and her grand-nieces.
“And so you’re none the worse for your wetting, my dear?” said her hostess, drawing her to her, and kissing her, after the little girl had gone up to her, as she sat by the log fire, and timidly said—
“Good morning, Madame Giche. Thank you for being so good to me.”
The child assured her that she was none the worse, her rosy face testifying to the same.
“Then, dear, don’t think about thanks. You are quite a pleasant surprise visitor to us—lonely people; to me and my two little shy nieces, who will be the better for having a little girl friend. Let me introduce you; they’re on the very tip-toe of waiting.”
[p66]
Then the two wee maidens came round from behind their aged relative’s chair, and were introduced as Olive and Sybil. Two dark-haired, brown-skinned damsels were they, in quaintly cut velvet frocks, with frillings of lace at throat and wrists.
“Now see, dear, it’s pouring with rain. Do you think you could be happy as our guest to-day, or must I send you home in the carriage?” questioned Madame Giche.
They were in what was called the tapestried chamber, a room lined with needlework, done by dead fingers of long ago: those of some of the ladies whose portraits Inna was to see by-and-by in the grand staircase, and the gallery running round the hall.
“I should like—what would you like me to do, ma’am?” faltered Inna.