“That’s right,” responded her grandmother; “and don’t hurry yourself, for it’s early, and you’ll have plenty of time to walk leisurely—to call on Mrs. Jasper, too; and I wish you would, for we haven’t heard or seen anything of her or the doctor for some days.”
“I shall if I have time, grandma,” replied Miriam, drawing on her gloves—for she had just entered the room attired for her walk. “I am very fond of Serena, as you know, and a talk with her is always a real treat.”
She did her errands first, then turned in the direction of Dr. Jasper’s pretty vine-covered and rose-embowered cottage.
Serena met her at the door, gave her a warm embrace, and seated her in an arm-chair on the shaded porch, taking another by her side.
At their feet lay the little garden, gay with flowers, that separated the house from the street. Perry was amusing himself there trundling a toy wheelbarrow up and down the walks. He dropped it to run to Miriam to claim a kiss, asking eagerly if Bertie and Olly were coming, too.
“Not to-day, my little man,” Miriam said, bestowing the caress, and keeping her arm about him. “How is little sister?” she asked.
“Oh, dus splendid!” he exclaimed, his dark eyes dancing with pleasure; “her’s de nicest ’ittle sister ever was.”
“He’s very fond of her,” Serena remarked, with satisfaction. “And she is a lovely little darling, if her father and mother are competent to judge of her charms,” she added, with her low, silvery laugh.
“And am I not to be treated to a sight of her?” asked Miriam, lightly.
“Yes, indeed. She is taking her morning nap; but I think we can take a peep at her ladyship without waking her,” Serena said, rising, and leading the way through the hall to the cosey sitting-room beyond, where, in a dainty crib, the babe lay sleeping—a plump, fair, golden-haired, blue-eyed little creature some three months old.