“Gracious! You ain’t a ketchin’ cold, be ye? A’ready? This way, then, suddent! Er there ye’ll be ter be nussed.” With which humble imitation of his mistress’ sentiments, Mr. Tubbs faced about, and seizing Steenie’s cold little hand, hurried back to their own domicile as fast as age and lumbago would permit.
“Now, look a here. Take a notice. Ye mayn’t be bright, but ye can l’arn sunthin’, an’ I’m boun’ ter teach ye. That gate-latch has a round quirl on the top. See? an’ there hain’t another gate-latch has a nothin’ but a square quirl the hull endurin’ length o’ High Street. Do ye understan’ what I’m a sayin’?”
“Why, yes, certainly. Why shouldn’t I?” laughed Steenie, forgetting her fear of her guide in gratitude for his “kindness” in returning her to her friends, and wondering why he thought her so slow of comprehension. But no sooner was the “round quirled” latch lifted than she darted past him and in at the front door, which, for an unusual thing, stood wide open.
“Papa! Grandmother! Where are you? I’m so glad—I’m sorry—I lost it—I was lost, too, and he’s—the loveliest great gray—Papa! Papa Calthorp!”
Her father emerged from the library, looking very pale and careworn; but she sprang into his arms with such exuberant delight that a smile rose to his lips. Then he clasped her close,—closer than she had ever known him to do, and his cheek felt the chill of hers. “Why, sweetheart, how cold you are! Where have you been?”
“Didn’t you hear, Papa, dear? I said I had been lost.”
Very speedily thereafter Steenie found herself in bed. She didn’t quite comprehend it, and it certainly was her first experience of going into such retirement in the daytime; but one glance at the child’s wet feet and shivering body had alarmed Madam greatly.
“Right out of that warm climate into this, and clad as she is! This way, Steenie, at once. Oh, your shoes! The tracks on the carpet!”
“Here, darling, I’ll carry you;” and as directly as if his eyes could see, Mr. Calthorp bore his little girl to her own room and himself assisted in tucking her into the thick blankets, while Mary Jane fussed about with hot bricks and soap-stones, and Madam Calthorp administered a dose of sage-tea, whose aroma carried the father back to the days of his own childhood.
When the excitement had somewhat subsided, and Steenie had assured them over and over that she was as “warm as a pepper-stew,” the house-mistress sat down to listen to the tale which her grandchild had, until then, vainly endeavored to tell.