"It just comes to this, though," replied Mrs. Green, "that Mrs. Henderson seems to want to make an old woman of Effie, and never remembers or sits down to think a bit about what she liked when she was a child herself. I have a great idea of duty to parents; but I consider I owe a duty to my children; and that if I would have them care for the things I care for, I must show that I feel for all their little troubles, and am glad when they are happy."
At this moment, a gentle and pleasant-looking lady came in sight. It was Mrs. Elwood, the wife of the Deerhurst doctor; and the two gossips suddenly recollected not only that the household business was at a stand-still, but that they were "not fit to be seen;" so they vanished indoors and resumed the labours which their chat had interrupted.
It was a common thing for Mrs. Elwood to ask little Effie Henderson to spend the Saturday half-holiday with her own children, and she was now going with the intention of taking her back. But, when she arrived, the widow's face had a flushed and angry look, as she opened the door for her visitor; and Mrs. Elwood began to fear for the success of her mission, when she saw Effie's hands clasped in a supplicating attitude, while the tears streamed down her cheeks.
A table was strewed with a curious collection of odds and ends, such as would provoke a smile in a grown-up person, but which in a child's eyes are priceless treasures. There were shreds of silk and velvet; a little half-dressed doll, whose other garments were close at hand; a few beads; a ring or two, which had been manufactured by Effie's little fingers from the same stock, and deemed by their owner as good as diamonds; her doll's necklace; some pictures profusely coloured in red, blue, and yellow, together with all those miscellaneous bits of rubbish which every mother has smiled at, when she turned out her little girl's pocket after the young ones had gone to bed.
Mrs. Henderson placed her visitor a chair, and while making a remark about the weather, gave a reproving glance at Effie, and then with a quick motion of her hand threw the whole queer little collection to the back of the fire. Poor Effie durst not speak; but she sobbed bitterly, and followed her mother's movements with sorrowful and longing eyes.
Mrs. Elwood felt uncomfortable; but, hoping to act as a peace-maker, said: "I trust my little friend has not been guilty of any serious fault, for I have come on propose to take her home with me, if you can spare her. I dare say my two little daughters are eagerly watching and listening for our footsteps, and thinking every minute an hour until mamma returns with Effie."
"I am sorry to disappoint them, Mrs. Elwood," replied the widow; "but I cannot let Effie accept your kind invitation to-day. I am going to send her to bed, to keep her out of mischief. I told her I should before you came, and I cannot break my word, though I dare say she thought it would be all right when she saw you. You can go, Effie," she continued, pointing towards the staircase as she spoke. "Say 'good-afternoon' to Mrs. Elwood."
The child placed her trembling hand in that of her friend, and in a low voice, interrupted by sobs, thanked her for coming to ask her to tea. Mrs. Elwood pressed her kind motherly lips to the little wet cheek, and said she hoped Effie would be able to go another day, but she must not say anything just at present, as Mrs. Henderson was displeased.
"I hope," said Mrs. Elwood, when Effie was out of hearing, "that my little friend has committed no serious fault."
"Quite enough to deserve punishment," was the reply. "She fills her pockets with all sorts of rubbish, and I am continually picking up some of her trumpery about the house. I have told her before I would burn all I might find, so to-day I made her gather up every bit, and I have taken care they will not be strewn here and there again."