It was the evening before Ella's birthday party, and somehow or other, the child had contracted a chill, much to the anxiety of her grandmother.
"Oh, Grannie!" Ella's voice had positively a wail in it.
"No, my dear," went on Mrs. Russell; "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but your health is more important than a birthday party."
The child's disappointment was almost too deep for words. Such a calamity as not being able to go to her party had never occurred to her.
"Grannie, my cold is nothing," she said. "It'll break my heart if you don't let me go."
But Grannie was absolutely unyielding. "No, Ella, I'm responsible for you to your father, and were I to neglect your health, I don't know what he would say."
Mrs. Russell, as a matter of fact, was wont to be over-anxious at times, and despite all Ella's protestations, she was packed off early to bed. Here she was bidden to drink some hot gruel, after which a steaming poultice was placed on her chest. That night the child cried herself to sleep, and in consequence looked both tired and heavy-eyed in the morning. Nevertheless, her cold was decidedly better, and Mrs. Russell almost regretted the note which she had dispatched to the Hall on the previous evening.
The consternation her missive caused, was beyond words, Rupert expressing his opinion of Mrs. Russell in no very complimentary phrases.
Mrs. Snowden did not say much, for hope was still in her heart.
She had no intention of giving up her project easily, and so, directly after lunch that morning, she ordered the carriage to be brought round, with a foot-warmer and plenty of rugs. The lady then started off herself to Mrs. Russell's lodgings, bent on bringing back with her, both Ella and her grandmother to the Hall. And, after earnest pleading be it said, she won her way.