IT was something less than a fortnight later that there was trouble with the power at the Altonia on a hectic day of high pressured rush. The machinery jerked itself to a standstill, like a faulty mechanical toy, and Gloriana-Virginia, waiting only to be certain that her frame was actually still, squatted thankfully in a corner and bent over her book, a sallow forefinger tracing the words laboriously, her lips moving in a blissful murmur.
Glen, hurrying through the spinning room with a message from Manders, stopped as always for a word. “Well, Glory—you’re in luck, anyway!” She leaned down to whisper. “We hope the old power will stay off, don’t we?”
“Yes, me’um,” the child returned, gratefully. “I sho’ do crave readin’ fairy tales’ stories!”
“But you’ve read that book ten times over, Glory! I must bring you another one.”
“No, me’um! Please, Glen, don’t yo’ take hit away! I crave to read hit ’twel I know hit from kiver to kiver! And this hyar is the ’citingest part!”
“What’s happening, Glory?”
“Oh ...” she emitted a little squeal of thrilled delight, “the Prince, he’s jes’ a-riding up to the Ogre’s Castle!”
It was at that very instant, making Gloriana-Virginia a prophet once removed, that M’liss’ Tolliver slouched into the superintendent’s office. “Feller out thar wants in,” she stated laconically.
“Who is he?”
“Didn’t say.”