"Perhaps you would read it to me, Hilda dear!" she said. "I cannot make it out very well. Mrs. Murray's hand is very illegible, or it may be partly because I have not my reading-glasses." So Hilda read as follows:—
Dear Miss Bond,—Is there any one in your neighborhood who would take a child to board for a few weeks? Little Benny May, a boy of four years, very bright and attractive, is having a slow recovery from pneumonia, and has had one relapse. I dare not send him home, where he would be neglected by a very careless mother; nor can we keep him longer here. I thought you might possibly know of some good, motherly woman, who would take the little fellow, and let him run about in the sunshine and drink milk, for that is what he needs.
With kind regards to your niece, whom I hope we shall see again,
Always sincerely yours,
Elizabeth Murray.
Miss Wealthy listened attentively, and shook her head; buttered a muffin, stirred her tea a little, and shook her head again. "I can't think," she said slowly and meditatively, "of a soul. I really—" But here she was interrupted, though not by words. For Hildegarde and Rose had been exchanging a whole battery of nods and smiles and kindling glances; and now the former sprang from her seat, and came and knelt by Miss Wealthy's chair, and looked up in her face with mute but eloquent appeal.
"My dear!" said the old lady. "What is it? what do you want? Isn't the egg perfectly fresh? I will call—" But Hildegarde stayed her hand as it moved toward the bell.
"I want Benny!" she murmured, in low and persuasive tones, caressing the soft withered hand she had taken.
"A penny!" cried Miss Wealthy. "My dear child, certainly! Any small amount I will most gladly give you; though, dear Hilda, you are rather old, perhaps,—at least your mother might think so,—to—"
"Oh, Cousin Wealthy, how can you?" cried Hildegarde, springing up, and turning scarlet, though she could not help laughing. "I didn't say penny, I said Benny! I want the little boy! Rose and I both want him, to take care of. Mayn't we have him, please? We may not be motherly, but we are very sisterly,—at least Rose is, and I know I could learn,—and we would take such good care of him, and we do want him so!" She paused for breath; and Miss Wealthy leaned back in her chair, and looked bewildered.
"A child! here!" she said; and she looked round the room, as if she rather expected the pictures to fall from the walls at the bare idea. In this survey she perceived that one picture hung slightly askew. She sighed, and made a motion to rise; but Hildegarde flew to straighten the refractory frame, and then returned to the charge.