Her little fit of temper spoiled the rest of the day for the girls, and Liane Lester was glad to get away at six o'clock, where, after a while, she could be alone with her own thoughts.
But granny was sniveling, with her apron to her eyes, when she entered the poverty-stricken room.
"What is it, granny? Are you ill?" she asked.
"No, I have bad news!"
"Bad news?"
"Yes; I've heard from my daughter, your mother, at last. She's dying down to Boston, and wants you and me to come," with an artful sob.
"But, of course, we cannot go!" Liane said, with strange reluctance.
"But, of course, we can. I've got a little money; enough for the trip. I've just been waiting for you to come and help me to pack our clothes."
"That will not take long. Our wardrobes are not extensive. But, I—I don't want to go!" declared Liane.
"You unnatural child, not to want to see your poor dying mother!" snapped the old woman.