The woman went out to continue her supper-getting. In a remote part of the house bacon could be heard hissing over the fire. Robert and Corinne sat upright on black chairs, but their guardian put Carrie on a padded lounge.
The little creature was dressed in aunt Corinne's clothing, giving it a graceful shape in spite of the broad tucks in sleeve, skirt and pantalet, which kept it from draggling over her hands or on the floor, She leaned against the wall, gazing around her with half-awakened interest. The dark circles were still about her eyes, but her pallor was flushed with a warmer color, Grandma Padgett pushed the damp curls off her forehead.
“Are you hungry, Sissy?” she inquired.
“No, ma'am,” replied Carrie. “Yes, ma'am,” she added, after a moment's reflection.
“She actually doesn't know,” said Bobaday, sitting down on the lounge near Carrie. Upon this, aunt Corinne forsook her own black chair and sat on the other side of their charge.
“Do you begin to remember, now?” inquired Robert Day, smoothing the listless hands on Carrie's lap.
“How we run off with you—you know,” prompted aunt Corinne, dressing a curl over her finger.
The child looked at each of them, smiling.
“Don't pester her,” said Grandma Padgett, taking some work out of her dress pocket and settling herself by a window to make use of the last primrose light in the sky.
“If we don't begin to make her talk, she'll forget how,” exclaimed aunt Corinne. “Can't you 'member anything about your father and mother now, Carrie?”