“Never mind,” comforted Polly; “sit still and turn the car into the road—you can do it. Put your foot—”
But Benedicta was on the ground, and running towards the kitchen door.
Polly drove the car into the garage and then followed the disquieted housekeeper.
CHAPTER XVII
A PICTURE AND A MESSAGE
THREE weeks had wrought encouraging changes among the small patients on Overlook Mountain, changes visible not alone to professional eyes. Little Duke was growing so plump that “Grocer Jack,” who brought up daily supplies from the village, and who was as lank as the proverbial beanpole, declared that he was coming up to board with Benedicta. Clementina Cunio was able to walk a full half-mile to one of the neighboring farmhouses without exhaustion, where the good wife always welcomed her with eager arms, never omitting the important word that she believed she grew strong every minute. Timmy Dennis and Jeffy Orton, who down in Fair Harbor had been too weak more than mildly to admire the multi-colored marbles that Mrs. Gresham had given them, were now really shooting them in the very latest fashion on the gravel walk and running in at nap-time or between games to tell of some passer-by who had stopped to compliment their playing, as well as to speak of their wonderful gain in appearance. As for Esther and Dolly Merrifield, their cheeks were now as pink as apple-blossoms, and the numerous visitors from cabins and bungalows thereabouts rejoiced talkatively over the rosy changes in the hitherto little pale faces. So, as appetites and happiness increased, those in charge said to one another what a fortunate thing it was that the children had come up to Overlook.
It was towards the end of the third week that Clementina came in from the veranda to tell of a traveling photographer who was outside and who wished to photograph them.
“An’ he’ll take us all at the same time,” went on the excited child, “an’ he won’t charge but one dollar an’ he’ll make ’em beautiful an’ we c’n send ’em home to our folks he says an’ we’ll make a lovely picture an’ it’ll be grand an’ won’t you Miss Dudley?”
Clementina stopped for lack of breath, whereupon Polly said she would see, and outdoors they went, the little girl holding fast to the hand that clasped hers in so reassuring a way.
Polly and the traveling photographer talked together for quite a little while—or rather the photographer talked and Polly bowed her head or shook it or said simply, “Yes,” and “I think so,” and such inconsequential things. Then, the main question seemingly having been decided, they walked about in front of the chalet, stopping at every few feet to look towards the veranda and making various motions with their hands.