Lynda paused and whispered something to the little maid and then, as she went forward, Truedale noticed that the child was beside Lynda, a shabby, wee maid of honour!
It was very quaint, very touchingly pretty, but the scene overawed the baby and when the last words were said and Truedale had kissed his wife they noticed that the little one was in tears. Lynda bent over her full of tenderness.
“What is it, dear?” she whispered.
“I—I want—my mother!”
“So do I, sweetheart; so do I!”
The wet eyes were raised in wonder.
“And where is your mother, baby?”
“Up—up—the hill!”
“Why, so is mine, but you will find yours—first. Don’t cry, sweetheart. See, here is a little ring. It is too large for you now, but let your mother keep it, and when you are big enough, wear it—and remember—me.”
Dazzled by the gift, the child smiled up radiantly. “Good-bye,” she whispered, “I’ll tell mother—and I won’t forget.”