“I wish I were in heaven,” sobbed the child.
“You cannot wish it any more than I do! You could well be spared from here.”
Hilda raised her head and looked with earnest gaze at Miss Flint.
“What are you staring at? Get a book or something and stare at it.”
“I left my new book under the apple tree; please open the door for me.”
Her companion was glad to comply, and Hilda returned quickly with it, and, sitting in her little chair, examined it with the look of having regained a lost friend.
“I am glad you have a pretty book,” remarked Miss Flint, calling what she flattered herself was a pleasant smile to her aid. “I am going out for a little while and you must not stir from that chair until I come back;” and hastily donning her wraps she locked the door, put the key in her pocket and walked rapidly to Dorton.
After arranging for the removal of her possessions, she called to see Mrs. Lattinger to say that she would come next morning to fit the dress, and then set out for the cottage.
She considered that her absence was short, but to Hilda it appeared endless. It was growing dark and she imagined that Miss Flint had left her to pass the night alone. She was a timid child, and Miss Flint’s harshness had made her nervous, and her sobs and cries were pitiful.
She had obeyed the mandate to stay in the chair; and opposite was a lounge with cretonne cover, the ruffle of which reached the floor. She saw this ruffle move, and when something peeped out and quickly withdrew, her terror was beyond control.