Part 32 (1/2)
”I'se sung twel my th'oat's dry,” said Daisy. And just then Mary came in. ”Isn't she asleep, Daisy?--I'll take her. Bannister's John is downstairs and wants to see you.”
”Well, I ain' wantin' to see him,” Daisy tossed her head; ”you jus'
take Miss Fiddle whilst I goes down and settles _him_. I ain' dressed and I ain' ready, Miss Mary. You jes' look at them feet.” She stuck them out for inspection. Her shoes were out at the toes and down at the heels. ”This ain' my company night.” As she went down-stairs, her voice died away in a querulous murmur.
Mary, with her child in her arms, sat by the window and looked out upon the quiet scene. There was faint rose in the sky, and a silver star.
But while she watched the rose faded.
Fiddle, warm and heavy in her arms, slept finally. Then Mary took off her dress and donned a thin white kimono. She let down her hair and braided it----
There was no light in the room, and her mother, coming up, asked softly, ”Are you there?”
”Yes.”
”Fiddle asleep?”
”Yes, Mother.”
Mrs. Flippin found her way to the window and sat down. ”The nurse is here, and a lot of clothes and things just came over for Miss MacVeigh from Hamilton Hill. Mary, I wish you could see them.”
”I shall in the morning, Mother.”
”The nurse got her into a satin nightgown before I came up, with nothing but straps for sleeves--but she looked like a Princess----”
”Aren't you tired to death, dear?”
Mrs. Flippin laughed. ”Me? I like it. I am sorry to have Miss MacVeigh hurt, but having her in the house with all those pretty things and people coming and going is better than a circus.”
Mary laughed a little. ”You are such a darling--making the best of things----”
”Well, making the best is the easiest way,” said Mrs. Flippin. ”I ain't taking any credit, Mary.”
”You've had a hard day. You'd better go to bed.”
”I'll have a harder one to-morrow. Nothing would do but I must go back to Huntersfield. Mandy's off her head, and the Judge wants this whole house turned upside down for Truxton.”
”And Truxton comes--on the noon train.”
”Yes.”
There was a long silence. Then Mary said in a queer voice, ”Mother, I've got to tell you something--to-night----”
”You ain't got anything to tell me, honey.”
”But I have--something--I should have told you--months ago.”
”There isn't anything you can tell me that I don't know.”
”_Mother_----”