Norah smiled at me from the shelter of the kitchen door.
"How did my little frind like the hat?" she asked, in a stage whisper.
It seemed to me that there were some subjects which would not bear talking about.
They felt my head a great many times that morning, and even looked at my tongue.
"She acts so unlike herself," my mother said, anxiously. "You don't feel sick anywhere, do you, Rhoda?"
"No," I replied, huskily.
Grandmother evinced a sudden interest.
"I wouldn't let her go to Evelyn's," she said.
"But I want to go!" I cried, piteously.
"There, there," my father said, in a soothing way. "Of course you may go."