She took a big straw hat from a peg on the door and put it on her head.
“I made sure, miss, that you were away to the shore with the others.”
“I did not go with them,” said Harriet.
“I hope, miss,” said the girl, glancing at Harriet, and observing the red rims round her eyes, “I hope that you ain’t ill, miss.”
“No, I am quite well, thank you; but the fact is, I don’t care for donkey rides. I am going out now, so you can arrange my room as soon as you like.”
“Thank you, miss,” replied the girl.
Harriet ran downstairs. The hall door stood wide open: a little gentle breeze came in and fluttered the leaves of some books on the hall table. The air was sun-laden, and Harriet was glad to get out-of-doors. The little place seemed still and undisturbed; but by and by she came to a gardener’s boy, and then to the gardener himself. They both touched their hats to her. She wandered on and on. Presently, she reached the round pond. Here the water-lilies grew in profusion—great yellow cups, and still larger white ones. Harriet felt that desire which comes to almost every child to possess herself of some of the great waxen blossoms. She bent forward and tried to pick one. She could not manage it, however, for the flowers with their thick stems were hard to gather, and she knew that were she to try any harder she might fall into the pond. This she had no wish to do, and contented herself with standing by the bank.
As she was thus standing, wondering what she should do next, she heard a clear little voice say:
“Hallo there!” and Ralph bounded out of a thick undergrowth close by.
“Ralph?” said Harriet. She felt herself colouring. Shame absolutely filled her eyes. She did not want to look at the boy, and yet, in spite of every effort, her heart bounded with delight at seeing him.