“I’m not much haddicted to hit,” admitted Higgins, who was fond of using long words. “In fact, I ’aven’t kissed any one since I said good-by to my mother hin the hold country. What do you want to know for, miss?”
“I was thinking that—but perhaps you’d rather not do it,” said Gretel, evasively. “It’s only that I’m so very happy to-night, I feel as if I should like to kiss everybody in the world.”
“You mean you would like to kiss me, miss?” There was something like consternation in Higgins’ voice, but she flushed all over her plain face, and looked for the moment really quite embarrassed.
“I should like to very much indeed if you wouldn’t mind,” said Gretel, and as the English woman bent down her face, she threw two soft little arms round Higgins’ neck, and kissed her heartily.
Higgins did not say anything, but switched out the light very hurriedly, and Gretel did not see the tears in her eyes, or hear her murmur softly as she left the room—
“There never was a sweeter child hin this country or the hold one either.”
It was quite true that Gretel was not sleepy. She was far too happy and excited to sleep, and she lay for some time, with wide-open eyes, living over all the delightful events of the day. She had taken the old rag doll to bed with her, and slipped the packet of her father’s letters under her pillow. It was so good to know that all her treasures were safe, and in her own possession once more. She was just beginning to feel a little sleepy, when her ear caught the sound of a distant piano, and she started up wide awake again.
“It’s Barbara!” she cried joyfully. “Oh, what a beautiful ending to the day to hear Barbara play before I go to sleep.”
She had no idea of doing anything wrong, or even unusual, as she sprang out of bed, and hastily putting on her wrapper and bath slippers—which Higgins had left on a chair by the bedside—opened the door, and stole softly out into the hall. In the old studio days she had often sat up till midnight while her father and his friends played and sang. Yes, Barbara was playing, and eager to get as near as possible to the music she loved, Gretel went on to the head of the stairs. The drawing-room door was directly opposite the staircase, and Gretel could hear every note as distinctly as if she had been in the room. With a little sigh of utter content, she sat down on the top stair, intending to enjoy another sensation of bliss before going back to bed again. The moonlight streaming in through the hall window, fell across the little figure in the blue flannel wrapper, and rested softly on the child’s rapt face.
Mrs. Douane finished the nocturne she was playing, and in the pause which followed, Gretel heard her brother say—