"Beg pardon," said she. "Maria, we'll go home now."
Maria was sitting near her mother, trying to force back the tears which would find their way through her closed eyes.
"You poor dear girl," said Mother Hubbard, going up to her, and taking her hand. "My auntie was so sorry to go off to-day, just when you were coming! but she had to, for Uncle Augustus is sick. And it looks funny to you—I mean to your mother—to see us dressed up this way; but auntie said we might, just to keep us from being so lonesome. And Mrs. Brooks, she wants you to call again the day after the day after to-morrow. She thinks she'll be home then."
"Yes'm," struck in my Lady Magnifico! "She thinks she'll come then with Uncle 'Gustus. He isn't much sick. If he was going to die, we wouldn't dress up so, certainly."
"No," replied Mrs. Brooks, smiling. "It's just as well; my Maria must have patience; that's all."
"Patience!" thought Maria; "haven't I had it, and had it?—But I do suppose God will attend to me when He thinks best. Is this what they call waiting on the Lord?"
"When you come nex' time, I hope you'll bring that doggie," said Fly.
Then they went away, and the last thing Maria listened to was Fly's melodious voice; and the last thing Fly looked at was Mrs. Brooks's nose moving up and down.