Most children would have been abashed or thoughtlessly ecstatic. The Fairy Foundling was not unappreciative, yet a fine reserve seemed bred in her blood and fiber. This environment of culture and refinement, instead of distressing her, placed her vaguely at ease.
“And please, dear—please don’t call me ‘Mrs. Theddon.’ I’m Mrs. Theddon to every one but you. You are to be different from the rest. Call me—if you can—call me mother! Would you call me mother, little girl?”
“I’d love to call you mother!”
The child smiled up sweetly into the woman’s aching eyes. And something caught in Mrs. Theddon’s throat. Only for an instant. Then another great wave of maternity swept through her tightened breast and long-repressed motherhood welled up gloriously,—fine and overwhelming and golden and true.
II
Mrs. Theddon led the child down the outer hallway into a small room which opened from her own. White and blue was the color scheme in an atmosphere of silken daintiness. Two windows opened upon a wide panorama of the Connecticut Valley and the river, far-flung from north to south below.
Little frocks were laid upon the counterpane. The dressing table was as complete as the boudoir appointments of feminine royalty. Beyond the chamber opened a diminutive, white-tiled bath.
“The workmen finished it yesterday afternoon, dear. I made them rush to complete it in time for you to-day. Now I’m going to bathe and dress you—myself. I want to do it! Marie, your maid, will not arrive until Monday. But that was arranged on purpose. For the first two days—I wanted—to accustom you to it, myself. I want us to get acquainted. You don’t mind, do you, dear?” She asked it anxiously, as though the child were a guest as old as herself.
“Oh, mother—dear—I’m—so happy! It’s a dream come true.”
“A dream come true?” Mrs. Theddon repeated the words dazedly. “And have you ever dreamed of things like these, little girl?”