"Let her manage it to suit herself," thought brother Horace, deeply wounded; "she knows my opinion."
When Madam Pragoffyetski came, the housekeeper went down to the parlor to introduce the children—a step which Horace thought highly unnecessary. He was charmed at once with the foreign lady's affable manners, and would have liked to go with her, if only Fly could have been left behind. Mrs. Fixfax explained that the child had been sick, and must be treated like a hot-house plant.
"We thought last night she was in danger of her life," said Dotty. "You expected she was going to die, Horace; you know you did."
"Well, I wasn't going to," returned Fly, coughing. "I knew I should live—I always do live."
"What was the matter?" said Mrs. Pragoffyetski, in alarm; for she knew as much about children's ailments as she did about the volcanoes in the sun.
"Only a little sore throat," answered the housekeeper, still looking anxious, and not at all sure she was doing right.
"Yes'm, sore froat. And Dotty wanted me to have the measles, too; but I wouldn't."
"That is right," said Mrs. Pragoffyetski, with a musical laugh. "Indeed, your little cousin was cruel to ask such a thing of you. I'm glad you didn't do it."
They took a street-car, and Dotty pressed her face against a window, expecting to see gay sights all the way. But no; the shops had their eyes shut. Yesterday how quickly everybody had moved! Now, men and women were walking quietly along, and there was no confusion anywhere.
"How strange!" said Prudy. "I should think it was Sunday, only the boys are blowing tin trumpets."