“I don’t think we ought to say such things,” said Daisy, gravely. “You know what Papa told us about being loyal.”
“Well, we don’t have to be loyal to Grandma when we’re all by ourselves,” retorted Molly. “It’s hard enough to remember when we’re with people, like Uncle Stephen and Miss Leslie. We can say what we like to each other, and it’s a great comfort.”
“Don’t argue, children,” reproved Dulcie, in her elder sister tone. “I’ve thought it over a lot, and I’ve decided that it really is our duty to go and call on the singing lady.”
“Let’s go now, right away,” exclaimed Maud, joyfully, springing to her feet.
Dulcie glanced at the clock.
“It’s only a little after seven,” she said, reflectively. “Mary’s out, and Bridget never comes up-stairs till bedtime. Yes, I think we might go now.”
“Come along, then,” cried Maud, already half-way to the door. She was promptly followed by Molly, and Daisy, though still a little reluctant, did not linger far behind. But Dulcie still hesitated.
“We ought to take her a present,” she said. “People always take presents to cripples.”
“What sort of a present?” Molly inquired anxiously.
“Flowers, or a Bible, or—or—oh, I don’t know exactly; something very nice and appropriate.”