When Mrs. Carlyon stooped over her little daughter to kiss her, Prissy put her one arm round her mother’s neck and drew her face down close. She knew it was not polite to whisper in company, but she wanted very much to ask a very, very important question, and she would have no other opportunity; and as Miss Potts was talking to Geoffrey, and Nurse was rattling the tea-things, she thought no one would notice that she was doing more than return her mother’s kiss.
Mrs. Carlyon quickly heard the whispered request, and, going out of the room under the pretence of removing her hat, soon returned with a thin, large envelope, which she slipped under Priscilla’s sofa-pillow. Then Miss Potts got up to go.
“I hope you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Carlyon, for staying so long. I didn’t mean to be more than a minute, and I’ve been the best part of two hours.”
She went over to Priscilla to say “Good-bye.” It was quite an ordeal to her to make her farewells and leave the room under the eyes of so many. She wanted to express her gratitude, but she was afraid of saying too much; she was also afraid of saying too little and seeming ungrateful.
“Good-bye, Miss Priscilla,” she said. “I—I hope you will soon be well and able to run about again.”
“Thank you,” said Priscilla politely. She was rather nervous and excited too, and her eyes were bright and eager. “I shall come to see you before I go to Porthcallis, and—and here is something I’ve got for you, but you mustn’t look at it until you get home. It is something to keep you from feeling quite so lonely when you are in your little parlour by yourself after the shop is shut.”
“Thank you, missie, I am sure,” said Miss Potts gratefully.
And whether she guessed what was in the packet no one ever knew, but she seemed very pleased and overcome. And when the poor lonely woman got back, as Priscilla said, to her lonely parlour behind the closed shop, and, opening the envelope, looked on the three bright faces in the photograph, her tears really did overflow—tears of pleasure and gratitude for the beautiful photograph, but most of all for the kind thought and affection which had prompted the gift.
“Dear little lady,” she said, gazing affectionately at Priscilla’s eager, serious face and wondering eyes; “she’s got a heart of gold; while as for that dear boy, why, I love every hair of his head and every tone of his voice, and the more he tries to tease me the more I love him, I think; and as for little Miss Loveday, why, no one could help loving her if one tried to.”