“Aunt Mean sent you these.”
“Why, thank you, Chee, thank you. And such a hot day, too. Would you like a drink of water?” Instead of water, the lady brought a glass of milk from the cellar. Chee sipped it slowly. It was delicious after the long, hot walk, but she felt anxious over her errand.
“I hope he won’t think I’ve workings of a spirit like Deacon Herring had,” she thought, a little fearfully.
After Mrs. Green had asked for her uncle and aunt, if they had green corn yet, and if Miss Almeana’s currant-bushes would be heavy that year, conversation flagged. Chee still sat on the edge of her chair as though waiting for something to happen.
“What can ail the child?” wondered Mrs. Green. Finally she ventured to ask Chee if she had come on any special errand.
“No-o, not ’zactly an errand, but—but,” she hesitated, slowly twisting around her fingers the hem of her short gingham skirt. “Could—please do you care if I see the minister a minute?”
Her hostess laughed. “Care? Why, no, child. I don’t keep him put away in the dark.”
Chee’s black eyes looked frightened. “Oh, Mrs. Green!” she said, “I didn’t mean it that way.” Dropping her voice to a whisper, she entreated, “Don’t say anything to Aunt Mean. Please don’t tell.”
The lady’s kind heart was touched. She loved little children. Quickly stooping to kiss Chee’s flushed forehead, she answered, “Tell that you asked to see the minister? No, indeed.”
“Thank you.” Chee had forgotten for a moment her usual reserve, and stealing her arms around Mrs. Green’s neck, she softly kissed her. This was the first voluntary act of affection the child had shown toward any one since her father’s death.