One day—it was a bright fair day, like any other summer day—Manuel had promised to take Rachel for a drive. “We might take Faith!” he said; he had grown very fond of the little one since she began to talk.
“I don’t know as I want to!” said Rachel, who was in a bad mood. “I’d like to have a chance to talk to you once in awhile myself, Manuel.”
“I’ll take Baby out in her carriage,” said Grandmother happily. “We’ll go to the woods, won’t we, White Rose?”
That was enough. “No, you won’t!” said Rachel. “If she’s going out she can come with us. You put on her things, Grandmother, while I get mine.”
Grandmother carried little Faith out to the wagon, and put her into her mother’s arms, and waited to see them start. It was surely a pretty sight, Anne Peace said; she was watching from her window. Rachel had a gipsy hat full of scarlet poppies tied with scarlet ribbons under her chin. Manuel was bare-headed, his crisp black curls framing his brown handsome face; and between the two dark beauties the little White Rose with her silver curls and apple-blossom face. She was dancing up and down on Rachel’s lap, clapping her hands at the horse. A little piece of quicksilver she was.
“Hold her tight, won’t you, Rachel?” said Grandmother; “she does jump about so, bless her!”
“I guess I know how to hold my own child!” said Rachel.
So—they started, and Grandmother waved good-bye, and then went back to the house with a still look; peaceful and serene, but the radiant light gone out of her face.
No one was ever to see that light again.