So I didn't run away. I sat in the wagon, groaning softly to myself. The way of the transgressor is hard. Every way was hard to me since I had set out to do wrong. It was hard to run off and be called "unagreeable," and very, very hard to go home and face my troubles.
I had not supposed there was the least danger of any one's coming before three o'clock; but to my surprise, when we reached the house, I found the front entry full of small girls—the little specks in A B C. There they stood, some of them with fingers in their mouths, while mother held the parlor-door open, and was asking them very kindly what they wanted. "Margaret," said she, "these little girls have been here as much as ten minutes; I don't know yet what they came for; perhaps you can find out."
Poor, sick mother was holding her head with her hand as she spoke. I hated myself so that I wanted to scream.
"Hattie," stammered I, taking one of the tiny ones by the hand, "come out in the garden, and I'll get you some pretty posies." Of course the rest followed like a flock of sheep. But we had hardly reached the garden before I saw three or four more girls coming. It was of no use; something must be done at once. I left the A B C girls staring at the garden gate, and ran to the house for dear life.
"Mamma, mamma!" cried I, as soon as I could get my breath; and then I rolled myself up into a little ball of anguish on the parlor carpet.
"Where's the camfire?" exclaimed Mrs. Duffy, springing up; "that child's really a fainting off." Mother came to me and took my hands; she says I was so pale that it quite startled her. "Where do you feel sick, dear?" she asked tenderly.
That sympathetic tone broke me down entirely. My stubborn pride yielded at once, and so did that bitter feeling I had been cherishing so long in regard to the parasol.
"O, mamma!" sobbed I, catching the skirt of her dress and hiding my head in it, and forgetting all about Mrs. Duffy; "I don't care what you do, mamma. You may send 'em home, and tell 'em they didn't be invited; you may go to the front door and say it this minute."
"It's gone till her head," said Mrs. Duffy, laying down the hammer; "see her shuvver! She nades hot wather till her fate, poor thing."