“She looks better already, don’t she, Miss Phronsie!” exclaimed Mrs. Higby in admiration of the effect of the treatment. “My! but ain’t this nice milk-toast, though! I guess I know, for I made it myself. There, take this, poor dear.”
“I’m sorry to make you all so much trouble,” said Grace penitently, with her mouth half full.
“Don’t feed her too fast, please, Mrs. Higby,” said Phronsie, looking on with the deepest interest.
“My land! she ought to eat to keep her strength up,” said Mrs. Higby, plying the spoon industriously. “Just so much milk-toast such as this is, and every hour you’ll see that leg of hers getting well like lightning.”
And then old Mr. King had to come and stand in the doorway, and say how glad he was that the foot was hurt no worse, for it had given him a dreadful fright to see her fear of his displeasure. And when Grace saw his handsome face light up with a smile for her, her last fear left her; and she gave a sigh of relief as he went off, obediently finished the toast, and settled back on her pillow.
“Land, how weak she must be to eat like that! she feels the need of victuals,” said Mrs. Higby. “Now I’ll run down and make you another slice,” nodding to Grace, “you poor dear, you.”
“Oh, don’t let her!” begged Grace in alarm. “O Miss Phronsie! I couldn’t eat another morsel.”
“She doesn’t want any more, Mrs. Higby,” said Phronsie; “truly she doesn’t.”
“But just s’posin’ she should be weak and faint in the night,” said Mrs. Higby. “I’d better make just one little thin slice, hadn’t I, Miss Phronsie,” standing irresolute in the doorway.
“No,” said Phronsie firmly. “I don’t think you had, Mrs. Higby. There, I’m going to tuck her up now, and then I shall stay with her.”