“Really stronger, Motherkin darling?”
“Really stronger, sweetheart.”
“That’s glorious! Away goes my silly regret for the things that were! And that thought will make me able to laugh inside, if I dare not outside, should my ‘master’ seem stern or hard to please.”
“Don’t go to the opposite extreme. Mr. Brook will never be harsh, or even ‘stern,’ I fancy, with you. But your ignorance concerning what is so simple to him may try his patience. That’s all. Now I must go to Belle. Have you seen Robert lately?”
“Not since breakfast.”
“He is very quiet somewhere.”
“Then of course he’s in mischief. But he’ll come out all right; he always does, you know. Good-by.” Off she ran, trilling in her rich young voice the first bars of “Edinboro Toon;” and Mrs. Beckwith rose with a smile to seek her other, less light-hearted daughter.
Belle stood over the kitchen sink, her sleeves pushed above elbows far too white and dainty, as she herself thought, to be plunged in a deep pan of hot suds, and with a “mop” was trying to wash the morning’s cups and saucers without touching her hands to the detested water. Her expression was so lugubrious that, despite a sincere sympathy, the mother could scarce repress a smile, and the girl faced about just in time to catch the amused expression and to guess at its cause. A sudden burst of tears followed, and Mrs. Beckwith was at her daughter’s side instantly.
“My poor, misguided child! Don’t, I beg of you, allow yourself to weep over—a pan of soiled dishes!”
“As Bonny would say, I’ll spoil the water! Is that it, Mother?” cried Belle, beginning to laugh almost hysterically.