"Now eat your luncheon," said Miss Parrott. "Hooper, you may give her some more milk."
"I don't want any more milk," said Rachel, waving him off with quite an air. "I've got lots and lots"—peering into her cup. She took up her knife and fork again, but, looking over them, found so many things to call for more attention than they seemed to be worthy of, that she soon laid them down again upon her plate.
"Where did you used to sit when you was a little girl?" she asked suddenly, when she had been reflecting a bit.
"I? Oh, I sat at the side of the table," said Miss Parrott, starting, as she was thus hastily summoned down into her past.
"Then can't I sit there now?" cried Rachel, flying out of her chair again.
"Say, can't I? Do let me." She ran clear around the table and hung over
Miss Parrott's chair.
Hooper groaned again and looked steadfastly out of the opposite window.
"My child," exclaimed Miss Parrott; her tone was very grave, but she put her long arm around Rachel and drew her closely to her, "remember what I said: you must not leave your chair during a meal."
"I forgot," Rachel flew back again, not waiting for her request to be granted, and sat down meekly in her place.
"And you must eat something," continued Miss Parrott, glancing at the little girl's plate, and with dreadful qualms at her old heart for having been severe. "If you don't, Rachel, Mrs. Henderson won't let you come here again."
The solemn butler folded and unfolded his hands, while his face expressed the belief that such a calamity could possibly be borne.