The keen, frosty air was no longer refreshing as she retraced her steps; it seemed rather to chill her to the very bones.
Hetty had asked her to come in through the store. Some customers were just passing out as she reached the door. Hetty glanced toward her on her entrance.
“Why, how dreadfully you look!” she exclaimed. “I haven’t managed right. I shouldn’t have let you go for such a walk when you’d eaten hardly a mouthful of breakfast.”
She threw an arm about Floy’s waist as she spoke, and drew her into a small room back of the store, where the making and trimming of bonnets was carried on. Several girls were working busily at the end nearest the window.
“Sit down here by the register and warm yourself,” said Hetty, gently forcing Floy into a large arm-chair.
“No, no, I must go up to the work-room at once,” answered the weary, half-fainting girl; “you know all hands are needed—”
“You’ll just sit there till you’re well warmed and have had a cup of tea,” said Hetty with authority. “The Thorne is but just done his breakfast; there’s a good fire in the kitchen, and—I’ll be back in two seconds. Don’t you dare to move till I come.” And shaking her finger threateningly, she rushed away through a door opening into the dining-room.
Her promise was not fulfilled to the letter, but scarce five minutes had elapsed when she returned with a cup of fragrant tea and two or three slices of thin, daintily browned and buttered toast, all fresh from the fire.
The tray, covered with a snowy napkin, was quickly placed on a stand close at Floy’s side, and Hetty ordered her, in a tone of good-humored authority, to eat and drink.