Sibyl had investigated these apples on her own account, and pronounced them very good, and had thought that a basket of the fruit would delight Dan. She had spoken to her mother on the subject, and her mother, in the height of good-humor, had promised that the apples should be gathered, and the little girl and she would ride down a lovely country lane to Dan’s cottage. They were to start about six o’clock, would ride under the shade of some spreading beech trees, and come back in the cool of the evening.
The whole plan was delightful, and Sibyl had been thinking about it all day. Now her mother had gone off to town, and most clearly had forgotten her promise to the child.
“Well, Missy,” said old Scott as he dug his spade deep down into the soil; “don’t stand just there, Missy, you’ll get the earth all over you.”
Sibyl moved to a respectful distance.
“How is Dan?” she asked, after a pause.
“A-wrastling with his pain,” answered Scott, a frown coming between his brows.
“Is he expecting me and mother with the beautiful apples?” asked Sibyl, in a somewhat anxious tone.
“Is he expecting you, Missy?” answered the old man, raising his beetling brows and fixing his black eyes on the child. “Is he a-counting the hours? Do ducks swim, Missy, and do little sick boys a-smothered up in bed in small close rooms want apples and little ladies to visit ’em or not? You said you’d go, Missy, and Dan he’s counting the minutes.”
“Of course I’ll go,” replied Sibyl, but she looked anxious and distrait. Then she added, “I will go if I possibly can.”
“I didn’t know there was any doubt about it, Missy, and I tell you Dan is counting the minutes. Last thing he said afore I went out this morning was, ‘I’ll see little Missy to-day, and she is to bring me a basket of apples.’ Seems to me he thinks a sight more of you than the fruit.”