"She's only rather unhappy, granny," said Myra.
"I think that's a very big 'only,'" said Mrs. Cranston. "Can't you tell me, my dear, what you are unhappy about?"
I glanced at Myra, as if asking her to speak for me. She understood.
"Granny," she said, "poor little Geraldine is unhappy to think of going away and going back to school."
Mrs. Cranston looked at me very kindly.
"Poor dear," she said, "you have not had much pleasure with us, as you have been ill all the time."
"I don't mind," I said. "I was telling Myra, only she thought it was naughty, that I'd rather be ill always if I was with kind people, than—than—be at school where nobody cares for me."
"Well, well, my dear, the troubles we dread are often those that don't come to pass. Try to keep up your spirits and get quite well and strong, so that you may be able to enjoy yourself a little before both you and Myra leave us."
"Oh, is Myra going away?" I said. "I thought she was going to live here always," and somehow I felt as if I did not mind quite so much to think of going away myself in that case.
"Oh no," said the old lady, "Myra has her own home where she must spend part of her time, though grandfather and I hope to have her here a good deal too. It is easy to manage now Miss Fenmore is with her always."