When Florence Amory opened her eyes the next morning, she was at a loss for some minutes to determine her own position in the great white world that lay around her. Then the events of the preceding night marshaled themselves into line one by one, and at the same time came the consciousness that she possessed a head,—a most unmanageable one, too. It danced and whirled in such an uncomfortable way that she was glad to shut her eyes once more.
Presently the sound of an old-fashioned coffee-mill, with its unwilling halts and sudden compliances, fell upon her ear in such close proximity that there was no mistaking the character of the adjoining room. A moment or two later the crushed berries sent through the keyhole a delicious whiff of aroma that spread itself through the room. Encouraged by this appeal to two of her senses, the girl once more took a survey of her quarters. A narrow bedroom, with just space enough beside the high-posted bed on which she lay to permit one person to pass; a chest of drawers, with shining brass handles that tinkled faintly in response to footsteps in another part of the house; one or two straight-backed chairs: these completed the furniture of the room, with the exception of a small looking-glass (one corner gone), a frame washstand, and a tiny yellow table. The windows were hung with green paper curtains. Just as she finished this journey around her room, her head took another flight, and was hardly down again when the door opened softly and the cheery face of ’Lisbeth peeped in. Seeing that the stranger was awake, she advanced to the bedside and bent over the flushed face upon the pillow.
“How’d ye sleep?” she inquired, softly brushing aside a stray lock or two of brown hair, as a mother might have done, from the tired young forehead.
“Not very much, I’m afraid. I’m not much rested: my head doesn’t feel quite right;” and she tried to smile.
“Well,”—this woman had a strong, comfortable way of beginning her sentences with that monosyllable, which seemed to put quite out of sight all doubts and difficulties in the way, and carried with it a conviction that everything was coming out just right,—“well, there’s nothing in the world to do but to stay just where you be. Your folks ain’t up yet, and won’t be this two hours. I’m goin’ to brown ye a piece of bread, and the tea’ll be ready by the time that’s done: it’s drawin’ now, front of the fire.”
“Oh, indeed I must get up. The children”—
“Land, the children can dress themselves, or their mother’ll help ’em if they need anything. Do’n’t you say another word, dear, but just shut your eyes and think about something easy,—dandelions in a cloverfield, say, or birds singin’ ’long towards night.”
The firm steps turned away and again began their journeyings up and down the floor of the adjoining room. Florence closed her eyes willingly enough, and lay perfectly quiet, with a sense of being cared for, such as she had not felt since she left her own home.