"O, Johnny!" replied Cassy, faintly; and then she walked on in silence, for Cassy Hallock was not a little girl who wore her heart on her sleeve; it was kept out of sight, and usually did its aching in secret.
The next day was Saturday; but Grace did not come to see Cassy, who was quite wretched, but too proud to let any one know it. At last, a happy thought struck her.
"Ma, mayn't I go round to see Gracie, and carry a bottle of your cream beer? I reckon she doesn't know I'm home again."
"Strange," thought Cassy, as she drew near her friend's house, and paused to rest. "Strange Johnny should say Grace has changed! Why, I've only been gone two months, and folks don't change in two months."
Yet she felt strangely agitated as she entered the yard. Gracie must know she was home again; she almost wished she had waited to see if she would call.
"I declare, if there isn't Cassy Hallock coming, bless her heart. O, dear me, no, the hypocrite!" said Grace, looking out of her chamber window. "I reckon she hasn't seen me; I'll run and hide. She needn't come here and pretend to be friends!"
Grace stole into the library, and locked the door.
"Miss Gracie," cried the sorrowful voice of black Phebe. No answer. At last, Phebe came to the library door and rattled it.
Grace whispered through the key-hole,—
"Ask the person into the parlor, Phebe, and say I'll be down very soon."