“Thank you, dears,” said she, when it came to an end, and a servant announced, “Mary from the farm is come for the two young ladies, Madame.”
“Was it anything like sailing down the river?” asked Sybil, as they all clustered round her.
“It was very sweet and beautiful,” said the old lady kindly; then she kissed her two guests “good night,” and said, “No; not so late,” to her two nieces, when they pleaded to accompany them as far as the five-barred gate.
Jenny was really a guest at the farm for a few days, sleeping with Inna, but spending most of her time at the Owl’s Nest.
It was just what Inna needed, with her pale cheeks and troubled heart.
“If I only knew where Oscar was, I think I could bear it better,” was her cry. But Dr. Willett had to bear his ifs and regrets in silence, as best he could, without change or comfort from anything or anybody, save the going out among his patients. His fine face grew very grave [p107] and sorrowful, his hair was whitening too, as the days glided on into weeks, and no tidings came of the missing boy.
Down the quiet shadowy drive from the Owl’s Nest went the two little girls and their attendant. Inna little knew to what she was going, tripping along and talking to Jenny. Clear of the drive, their path home lay in the moonlight, and not far had they gone when a little wailing mew came to them from behind a hedge, and then a small white and black kitten emerged therefrom, and came and rubbed herself round Inna’s feet. She caught it up and fondled it, the knowing little pleader mewing such a pleased mew then, that you may be sure it went straight to the little girl’s heart.
“Oh, if I might keep it as my very own!” she cried; “but I’m afraid that Smut wouldn’t like it.”
“I’m afraid Mrs. Grant wouldn’t like it,” said Mary, as a stronger objection.
“Take the kitten home and ask her,” advised Jenny; “and if she says ‘No,’ you could but ask your uncle, and if he says ‘Yes,’ she wouldn’t dare to say ‘No.’”