But baby only cooed louder than before. And Mary, looking up, saw what baby saw too—that nurse was coming over the lawn; and baby’s face broke out into quite a wide smile; she was very fond of nurse.
Poor nurse did not smile when she got close to the two little girls, for she saw that Mary was crying, and she was afraid there was something the matter.
“Have you hurt yourself, Miss Mary?” she said. “Miss Baby’s all right, but what are you crying about?”
“Oh, nurse, I’ve been calling you so,” said Mary,—“calling and calling. I’m so unhappy about baby;” and then she told nurse the sad thought that had come into her mind, and how troubled she was about it.
Nurse listened very gravely, but—would you believe it?—when Mary had finished all her story, what do you think she did? She sat down on the grass and picked up baby in her arms and burst out laughing. I do not think she had laughed so much for a long time.
“Oh, Miss Mary, my dear,” she said, “you are a funny child!”
Mary looked up at her, her face still wet with tears and with a very solemn expression; she did not quite like nurse’s laughing at her when she had been so unhappy.
“I’m not funny,” she said. “It’s very sad for poor baby,” and new tears came into her eyes at the thought that even nurse did not care.
But nurse had left off laughing by this time. “Miss Mary, my dear,” she said, “don’t make a trouble about it. Miss Baby’s teeth will come all in good time. I shouldn’t wonder if she has several dear little pearls in her mouth to show you before Christmas. Don’t you remember that day when we were talking about her teeth, I told you how yours had come, one after the other, and that they used to hurt you sometimes.”
Mary’s face cleared at this.