“Prissy, dear,” said her mother, as gently and kindly as though nothing had happened, “will you do something for me? Will you run down very quickly and help Nurse to dust the drawing-room? If you will help her, there will be just time to set it all straight again before our guests arrive.”
“Oh yes, mother.”
Priscilla scrambled off the bed in a moment, and pushed her hair back from her face.
“Here is a nice soft duster,” said mother; “run quickly, dear.”
But Priscilla, using the soft duster to mop her eyes with, stayed for just a moment to throw her arms about her mother’s neck.
“Oh!” she cried, “I do think you are the very nicest mother in all the world. I am so glad I haven’t got any other,” and she hugged and kissed her again.
“Now, don’t wipe your eyes on the duster any more, dear,” said Mrs. Carlyon laughingly, and returning the kiss, “or it will make the things quite dull instead of polishing them.”
Priscilla did not answer; she was gazing at her mother, lost in admiration. Mrs. Carlyon had on a pretty brown silk gown, trimmed with bands of little pink roses and green leaves, and the gown suited her fair hair and delicate complexion to a nicety.
“I don’t wonder father married you, mother. You do look nice in that gown.”
“Run away and dust my drawing-room,” cried Mrs. Carlyon, laughing again, “and don’t waste time thinking of flattering things to say to your mother. Hurry; it is close on four, and people will be coming soon.”