Polly was interested at once and cordially held out her hand. “I should like to hear about her,” she said.
“My Sunday-School class is up here on a picnic,” the child explained, “over the knoll there; and I and another girl were just walking round, and we heard your children, so we came nearer to find out. I wanted to come to see you before, but grandfather wouldn’t let me. I wondered if you were going to make them walk”—pointing to Grissel and Little Duke—“and I couldn’t help asking.” The girl’s face was eager and anxious.
“Let’s sit down in the shade and talk it over.” Polly put her arm around the slim shoulders and drew the child to the farther end of the “garden,” quite out of hearing of the wheel-chairs.
“Has your little sister never walked at all?” was asked, as they sat down on a big log.
“Not a single step!” answered the child with emphasis; “and it does seem too bad, she is so beautiful. I never saw anybody so handsome in all my life, unless it was my mother. I can’t remember much about mother; but grandfather says she was beautiful, like Rosalind. He says that grandmother used to be just as lovely as that, too. I think she’s pretty now.”
“Do you live with your grandfather?”
“Yes, ma’am, since father died—there’s just Rosalind and me.”
“I shall have to go to see this dear little Rosalind,” smiled Polly, her arm tightening around the child.
“Oh, no!” was the unexpected reply, “grandfather wouldn’t like it—you mustn’t! Maybe I can draw Rosalind up here in her cart. I’ll try some day, if you’d like to see her.”
“Surely I wish to see her; but I cannot understand what your grandfather has against me.”