"It's beastly," agreed the Portia Person inadequately, "but you mustn't lose hope yet—"
She caught at his glib words eagerly.
"How silly of me! It was only the Tired part of me that spoke!" She smiled. "I am like Dulcie's Pandora a little. I have opened the box and let out all the troubles—but perhaps I haven't let out Hope— probably everything is as right as right can be—in some of Grandy's papers—"
She was grateful that she had this hope to hold out to her "children" —she thought of them always now as children, these folk who dwelt about her. Perhaps she caught that feeling from Molly, who mothered every one of them.
Of course the journey to the House in the Woods availed nothing. It only brought Felicia back, graver and quieter than ever. The Majorhadn't recognized her at all. He had merely called her Louisa and forbade her to go to Paris, and Piqueur, Margot, Bele, and Zeb had poured out their little troubles to her so that the trip had left her despondent.
She went back to her work dully; she stitched as daintily and carefully as ever, but her whole spirit drooped. This was the end of all her high hopes and great dreams,—that in less than a fortnight she would have to give up the struggle.
At least she was very busy during those warm April days. She had amusing things to sew upon, little tarltan skirts for children who were to appear in a huge charitable "May Day" entertainment. They were of gay colors, those frills, like big holly-hocks, she thought as she flung the finished things into a hamper. She helped to make other costumes too, sitting with a score of seamstresses in the auditorium of one of the churches. These women talked a great deal about the entertainment. Naturally, each one of them talked only about the person or the committee who had hired her.
Yet engrossed in her anxieties for her household as she stitched and stitched Felicia listened not at all to the chatter about her. It was merely like the humming of the bees in her garden in the woods. She heard it but heeded it not, because her heart was intent upon her roses.
Because she was aware that the House would soon be taken away from her "children" she strove mightily to make these last days in it the most wonderful days in the garden of their lives. She never let them see that she feared. Just to hear her when she came home in the late afternoon was like listening to a symphony of inspiration. It began at the basement door. How she braced herself for it! How she advanced, head up, lips smiling!
A word to Janet, grumbling over her cleaning; a quick grasp of Molly's warm hand—Molly was her hold on life in those discouraging days! Molly, God bless her, would never admit defeat! Who fought out her part in the battle! She made their slender funds nourish their hungry bodies and she took nothing from Felicia but gave herself as royally as her little lady poured out herself to the others.