“May I tell Hester about it, mother?” Celia asked, her eyes shining; “and she can carry my flowers and leave them at Marion’s.”
The flowers and their owner went away together, followed by Mrs. Foster. As for the young ladies, Agatha took pretty pink silk stitches on the lovely white satin and said not a word, while Lorene, turning to the piano, played a few bars, and sang softly:
“Low in the grave he lay,
Jesus my Saviour,”
breaking off to say: “Celia is a strange little girl, isn’t she?”
“Very strange,” answered Agatha, and she finished a pink bud as she spoke. She was making an Easter offering.
Nobody, it is safe to say, was more surprised at the turn of affairs than was Hester. She thought about it while she hurriedly combed the tangle of hair before her bit of broken glass, and made ready for going home. She was worried about the baby, but she divided her thoughts with this strange offering from Celia. She knew all about the Easter flowers, and the plans for the afternoon, and the high tea together at Marion’s lovely home. Celia’s talk had been full of it for the past two days. “I’d just like to know what made her do it, anyhow,” was Hester’s concluding question, offered aloud to the tin basin, in which she energetically washed her hands when the hair was done.
Easter morning was beautiful with sunshine and the song of birds, when Celia, looking from her window, saw Hester tripping around to the back door. She had been allowed to stay at home all night.
“O, Hester!” called Celia, “how is the baby?”
Hester looked up with a glad smile. “He is better,” she said, “ever so much better. Mother would have sent me word, only she expected me. He laughed and crowed as soon as he saw me, and you can’t think what a lovely time I had with him. Say, Celia, I want to know what made you do it?”