“Why, where did you find that lovely chair?” cried Florence delightedly. “I thought I should have to sit up just as straight!”
“Oh, we jest made it up out of one of the old armchairs in the best room,” said the other, surveying the luxurious piece of upholstery with pardonable pride. “You see, Elsie thought it all out, and put us to work, when you said you wanted to set up: so we jest stuffed the back an’ arms, and Elsie sawed off the hind legs an’ fixed that place for your feet in front, and there you be!”
Five minutes later, Florence sat, weak and trembling after her long inactivity, in the comfortable chintz-covered chair, with a great sense of achievement and a new hold on the realities of life.
“Now, if I could only see Elsie, and thank her.”
“And—what?”
“Why, tell her how much I thank her for all the trouble she has taken for me.”
A queer look came into ’Lisbeth’s face, and her eyes twinkled. “Guess ye’d better wait till to-morrow,” she said. “You’ll feel stronger then, and—she—can come in while you’re settin’ up.”
“But why not to-day?” persisted the other, with a convalescent’s freedom.
“Well, to tell the truth, Elsie’s busy to-day outdoors, and won’t be in till you’re abed again; and then you ought to rest.”