After three weeks of this her mother grew fairly discouraged.
“We have tried the seaside and we have tried the mountains,” she declared mournfully to Hannah, after a particularly dreary day in which everything had gone wrong with Priscilla. “She doesn’t seem contented anywhere.”
“She’s not sick, that’s certain,” Hannah assured her consolingly. “The doctors all say there’s nothing the matter with her. Dr. Crosby told me he thought it was just a miracle the way she got over the shock of that fall. He said it wouldn’t have been possible if she were as she used to be.”
“Yes, I know she is not sick,” went on the anxious mother, “but her spirits do not improve. She was so happy and merry this summer, it was a pleasure to see her. Her aunts and uncles all remarked what a different child she was, but now—ever since her fall—she has been going back to her old listless, moody ways again. I am utterly distressed about her.”
“Oh, now, I wouldn’t feel like that,” ventured Hannah, who in her heart felt entirely the same, but wouldn’t have admitted it for the world.
Just then Priscilla herself wandered into the room. The corners of her mouth were drooping and her eyes looked quite ready for tears.
Her mother held out her arms and the little girl went to her silently.
“I wonder,” said Mrs. Duer, kissing the mournful lips and stroking back the glossy hair with a loving hand, “I wonder what pleasant plan we can make for to-morrow. What would you like to do, little daughter?”
For answer Priscilla suddenly buried her face in her mother’s neck and began to cry.
“Why, what is it, darling?”