And the doctor would answer thoughtfully “No, for she has made me young again. I will not grumble when the snows come because we have had summer, and know how bright it is.”
But the child lived with them as if she were going to live with them for ever. If she had any memories of days before she came there, she never alluded to them. After the first, she never mentioned Jane,—she never spoke of a father or mother. But she was happy as the summer days were long,—a glad, bright, winsome creature as ever was the delight of any household.
And so the days and the weeks and the months went on, and it was October. And one day the bell rang, and Mistress Mulloney went to the door, and in a moment came to the room where Miss Ellen was sitting, with Rosebud playing beside her, and beckoned to her mistress.
“It’s some one asking for the child,” she said. “Can’t we jist hide her away? It’ll be hard for the doctor if she’s took.”
“No; we must see who it is, and do what is right,” Miss Ellen answered; but her lips trembled a little. She went into the hall, and there, at the door, stood a woman, looking like a nursery-maid of the better sort.
“I have come,” the stranger began; but Rosebud had caught the sound of her voice, and came on the scene like a flash of light.
“It is ‘presently!’” she cried; “and there, oh, there is mamma!” And down the path she flew, and into the very arms of a lady who was waiting at a little distance.
Miss Harding went down the steps. “You have come, I see, to claim our Rosebud, and she is only too ready to be claimed. I thought we had made her happy.”
The child caught the slight accent of reproach in Miss Ellen’s voice, and turned towards her.