“On the contrary, you are the nicest plaything in the world, Connie. One always knows where to find you.”
She half laughed and half cried, and the two halves made a very bewitching whole.
“But,” I went on, “I mean to try whether my dolly won’t bear moving. One thing is clear, I can’t go without it. Do you think you could be got on the sofa to-day without hurting you?”
“I am sure I could, papa. I feel better today than I have felt yet. Mamma, do send for Susan, and get me up before dinner.”
When I went in after a couple of hours or so, I found her lying on the conch, propped up with pillows. She lay looking out of the window on the lawn at the back of the house. A smile hovered about her bloodless lips, and the blue of her eyes, though very gray, looked sunny. Her white face showed the whiter because her dark brown hair was all about it. We had had to cut her hair, but it had grown to her neck again.
“I have been trying to count the daisies on the lawn,” she said.
“What a sharp sight you must have, child!”
“I see them all as clear as if they were enamelled on that table before me.”
I was not so anxious to get rid of the daisies as some people are. Neither did I keep the grass quite so close shaved.
“But,” she went on, “I could not count them, for it gave me the fidgets in my feet.”