Priscilla did not like to enquire of her mamma or Hannah about it, for she had once been very sick with a pain in her head, and the doctors had come, and she was in bed for a long time, and after that she had been told not to ask questions. And whenever she sat, as she loved to do, very quietly on the nursery couch, trying to puzzle things out for herself, Hannah would come and bid her “stop her studyin’” and go and play with her dolls, explaining that “little girls never would grow big and strong and beautiful like their Cousin Cicely if they sat still all the time and bothered their brains about things they couldn’t understand.” So it was not as hard for Priscilla as it might have been for some other little girls to “sit still like a lady” in the big armchair, and she was just beginning to have “a nice time with her mind” when there was a knock upon the door and James the butler, announced in his grand, deep voice, “Dinner is served. And your mamma says as ’ow she wishes you to come down, miss.”
She waited for Hannah to lift her to the floor, bade her good-bye very politely and then tripped daintily down the long halls and softly carpeted staircases to the dining-room, where there was a great stir and murmur of voices and what seemed to Priscilla a vast crowd of people. She knew them all well, of course; grandpapa and grandmamma; Uncle Arthur Hamilton, who was the husband of Aunt Laura; Uncle Robert and Aunt Louise Duer; dear Cousin Cissy, and her papa and mamma. They were all very old and familiar friends, but when they were collected together they seemed strange and “different” and frightened her very much. Her heart always beat exceedingly fast as she moved about from one to the other saying, “Yes, aunt” and “No, uncle,” so many times in succession. When she entered the room now the hum of voices suddenly stopped and then, the next instant, broke out afresh and louder than ever.
“Dear child! Why, I do believe she’s grown!”
“Bless her heart, so she has!”
“But she doesn’t grow stout.”
“Nor rosy.”
“Come, my pet, and kiss grandpapa!”
“What a big girl grandmamma has got! Eight years old! Just fancy!”
“Do let me have her for a moment. I must have a kiss this second.”
Priscilla heaved a deep sigh under the lace of her frock at which, to her embarrassment, all the company laughed and dear Cousin Cicely said: