Just such an evening the two cronies had passed on the day previous to this sudden invitation to go to Miss Sibby’s.
Rosemary hated to go. She knew to do so would involve the sacrifice of their evening readings.
“Oh, Aunt Sukey,” she said, as she buttoned up her blue bombazet pelisse—“oh, to think that we had got into such an interesting part of ‘The Children of the Abbey!’ Amanda had just met Lord Mortimer! And now it will be a week, or maybe a fortnight, before we can go on with it.”
“Never mind, Rosemary. Your mother lets you stay with me nearly always, and you are her only child, too, and she is a widow; so when she sends for us we must go,” said Aunt Sukey.
“Oh, yes, I know; but Amanda and Lord Mortimer——”
“Never mind Amanda and Lord Mortimer; they can wait until we come back. Now roll up your quilt pieces, and we will put them in my bag. Come! are you ready?”
“Yes, Aunt Sukey, soon as I have pulled on my mits.”
“Now we must go and take leave of Molly and the children,” said Miss Grandiere.
But as she spoke, there entered from the door on the right of the fireplace a pretty, fragile woman of about forty-five years of age, who, with the exception of her fair skin, blue eyes and brown hair, bore not the slightest resemblance to her tall, stately and handsome sister. She was dressed in a brown, linsey gown, white apron, white neck shawl and white cap. She was closely followed by two little girls of ten and twelve years of age, fair and blue-eyed, like their mother, with frocks that seemed to have been cut off the same piece as their mother’s gown. These were the two children of the house—Erina and Melina Elk.
“Why, I have just heard from Dan that you are going Down on the Bay,” said the newcomer.