“You must excuse things being a little upset,” the lady said, apologetically. “It’s Sunday morning, you know, and the chambermaid has gone to church. She’s a nice girl, and very kind and obliging, but I am afraid I give her a good deal of trouble. Take those bedclothes off that comfortable chair, and sit down. It’s a great pleasure to have a little girl come to see me. And so your sister likes my singing. I am very glad. I had no idea any one cared about it.”
“We all like it,” said Molly, who had obeyed her hostess’ instructions, and seated herself. “You see, our room is just on the other side of the wall, and we can hear very well indeed. Maud is in bed to-day, with a sore throat, and she loved the music.”
“Bless her heart!” cried the little lady, fairly beaming with pleasure, “she shall have all the music I can give her. I love to sing, though I know I haven’t much of a voice. Would you mind telling me your name?”
“My name is Molly Winslow,” said Molly, “and my sisters’ names are Dulcie, Daisy and Maud. It’s Maud who is sick. She’s only seven. I’m nine, and Dulcie and Daisy are eleven and ten. Our mamma is dead, and our papa has gone to China. We live next door with Grandma Winslow.”
“I know who you are now,” said the lady, smiling; “you are old Dr. Winslow’s grandchildren. I have always admired your grandfather’s writing so much. I have read a number of his books, and I was so much interested when I heard his house was next door.”
“Were you?” said Molly. “I’m glad you like Grandpa’s books. I didn’t know anybody did. Dulcie began one once, but she said it wasn’t very interesting. I suppose people ought to like their relations’ books.”
The lady laughed such a merry laugh that Molly found herself laughing, too, though she did not know why.
“I think Dr. Winslow’s books might seem rather dull to a little girl,” she said. “Perhaps I might have found them dull myself, if I were able to get about like other people, but when one has to live in a wheel-chair one is glad of almost anything to read.”
“Do you always have to stay in the chair?” asked Molly, sympathetically. “I thought perhaps you had just sprained your ankle or something like that. Papa sprained his ankle once and he had to keep his foot up for three whole weeks.”
“I haven’t walked a step for nearly three years,” said the lady, quietly.