Part 12 (1/2)
Marjorie remembered that she had been taught to say ”grandmarm,” but as she grew older she had softened it to ”grandma.”
”I'll bring you her photograph when I come to-morrow to say good-bye.
Now, tell me what you've been looking sad about.”
Is it possible that she was forgetting?
”Oh, perhaps you can help me!”
”Help you! Of course I will.”
”How did you know I was troubled?” she asked seriously, looking up into his eyes.
”Have I eyes?” he answered as seriously. ”Father happened to think that mother had an errand for him to do on this road, so I jumped off and ran after you.”
”No, you ran after your mother's errand,” she answered, jealously.
”Well, then, I found you, my precise little maiden, and now you must tell me what you were crying about.”
”Not spilt milk, but only a broken milk pitcher! _Do_ you think you can find me a yellow pitcher, with yellow figures--a man, or a lion, or something, a hundred or two hundred years old?”
”In New York? I'm rather doubtful. Oh, I know--mother has some old ware, it belonged to her grandmother, perhaps I can beg a piece of it for you.
Will it do if it isn't a pitcher?”
”I'd rather have a pitcher, a yellow pitcher. The one I broke belongs to a friend of Miss Prudence.”
”Prudence! Is she a Puritan maiden?” he asked.
Marjorie felt very ignorant, she colored and was silent. She supposed Helen Rheid would know what a Puritan maiden was.
”I won't tease you,” he said penitently. ”I'll find you something to make the loss good, perhaps I'll find something she'll like a great deal better.”
”Mr. Onderdonk has a plate that came from Holland, it's over two hundred years old he told Miss Prudence; oh, if you _could_ get that!” cried Marjorie, clasping her hands in her eagerness.
”Mr. Onderdonk? Oh, the shoemaker, near the schoolhouse. Well, Mousie, you shall have some old thing if I have to go back a century to get it.
Helen will be interested to know all about it; I've told her about you.”
”There's nothing to tell about me,” returned Marjorie.
”Then I must have imagined it; you used to be such a cunning little thing.”
”_Used to be!_” repeated sensitive Marjorie, to herself. She was sure Hollis was disappointed in her. And she thought he was so tall and wise and handsome and grand! She could never be disappointed in him.
How surprised she would have been had she known that Helen's eyes had filled with tears when Hollis told her how his little friend had risen all alone in that full church! Helen thought she could never be like Marjorie.
”I wish you had a picture of how you used to look for me to show Helen.”
Not how she looked to-day! Her lips quivered and she kept her eyes on her dusty shoes.
”I suppose you want the pitcher immediately.”