“Now, dear, for breakfast. The pullets have just begun to lay, an’ Elsie’s been out and found a nest in the haymow where that little Plymouth-Rock was a-cacklin’ yesterday. Look!” She held up the warm, coffee-colored egg as she spoke. “How’ll you have it cooked? Boiled? Well, I’ll do it just right, and show ye how to take off the lid with a knife and eat it out of the shell. Father always has his that way.”
Florence smiled in spite of herself at being treated so like a child.
“That’s right,” continued Lisbeth briskly: “don’t ye go to feelin’ solemn, for it’s goin’ to be a grand day. And as for time to come, why, all I say is, don’t worry. You’re as welcome as the flowers of May, and I love to have ye round. You remind me of a little sister I had once, and—and—Yes, I’m comin’!” And ’Lisbeth, guilty, for the only time in her life, of a downright deception, hurried out of the room, pausing, however, to shut the door gently behind her.
Breakfast over, and the ceremony of enthronement in the easy chair performed, Florence, with spirits quite recovered, again recurred to Elsie. “Now, ’Lisbeth,” she said gayly, “please hand me the longest pussy-willow stem for a scepter, and I will give audience to my subjects. Where is Elsie?”
III
’Lisbeth stepped to the door and called through it: “Come in: she’s ready to see ye now.”
Florence waited, with a bright smile dawning on her face for the kindly little spirit who handled pussy-willows and armchairs so deftly. The next minute she heard a light, firm step upon the kitchen floor. It hesitated at the door, and a gentle knock followed.
“Come right in, Elsie,” cried Florence, pleased again by her delicacy. “I shall be so glad—”
She paused abruptly. The door had swung open, and there stood a tall, well-built young man, an amused twinkle in his clear gray eyes, and the corners of his mouth just failing of that demureness they aimed to achieve. Without, however, appearing to notice any element of embarrassment in the situation, he stepped forward quietly and laid in her lap a glorious bunch of roses, saying, as he did so, “I happened to be at the Corner this morning, and was fortunate in securing the first cutting at the greenhouse. It is like the cream on Aunt ’Lisbeth’s pans,” he went on, evidently to give her time. “I always was troublesome just before churning days: wasn’t I, aunt?”