Part 10 (1/2)

”Only one question at a time, if you please,” laughingly returned Lottie. ”Can you not guess?” she added, glancing at her gown, and for the first time Flora noticed it was black.

The quick tears sprang to Flora's eyes.

”Oh, Lottie, who is it? Not your mother?” she said, sympathetically, her arm tightening in its grasp, and her thoughts running back to her sorrow when Aunt Bertha pa.s.sed away.

”Yes,” returned Lottie, sadly, ”mother is dead. Father felt that he could not be happy at home, and so he went away out West, and left me with my aunt, Mrs. Emmeline Durand. And Flora, if you want to know what misery is, just you come and take my place for a while.” And she looked at Flora with such a mingled expression of regret at her lot, and a.s.sumed resignation, that Flora was tempted to laugh, in spite of her sorrow in learning of the death of Mrs. Piper.

”If you want to laugh, you may,” said Lottie, seeing her difficulty, and appreciating it, as was shown by the merry twinkle in her bright black eyes.

”No, no, I must not laugh,” said Flora, squeezing her friend's arm affectionately. ”I'm so sorry that your mother is dead. Where does your aunt live? I will come and see you.”

”No, you--I mean you--can't--that is, she won't let you,” stammered Lottie, blus.h.i.+ng hotly.

”Yes, I understand. It is all right. It is not your fault,” said Flora, hastily, appreciating the situation; and wis.h.i.+ng to relieve the embarra.s.sment of the other, she added, ”You can come and see me.”

”I don't know,” answered Lottie, glad to find that Flora understood. ”I hardly think she would let me come. I have not asked her to go anywhere, as yet. I have been with her about five weeks, and this is the first time I have been out, except on an errand. She says she doesn't approve of girls 'gadding the streets.' I must go now. I have stayed longer than I ought to already, for I had a long walk before I saw you. Flora,” she added, an instant later, as she glanced at the window, ”isn't that a potato in that jar?”

”Yes,” answered Flora, ”it is the same one you gave me when I was leaving Brinton.”

”Really? The very same?”

”Yes. You know you told me not to eat it, and I didn't know what to do with it at first. Then I thought it would look very nice if I put it in the window; I did, and it has grown splendidly and has kept green all winter.”

”I am so glad you thought of that, Flora, because that was what I first noticed as I pa.s.sed. And I thought it looked like a sweet-potato vine.

And then, you know,” Lottie continued, ”if you hadn't I should not have stopped or seen you ever, because I did not know where you were going when you came away. But what will my aunt say? I guess I'll not get anything for supper but a bit of tongue, and I don't fancy that, I can tell you. Good-bye.” And with a hurried kiss, and a warm embrace, Lottie hurried down the street.

She was sorry to go, as it was so good to meet somebody she knew--somebody connected with the old, happy home-life, for while Lottie's mother lived, she had been very happy. But now she was so lonely.

She hurried along the streets until she came to one near the suburbs of the town. This street had trees on either side, and was very quiet. The houses were small and nearly all set back from the street.

Lottie walked along briskly, turning deftly in and out, and at length arrived safe and sound at the little gate leading into her aunt's yard.

This gate opened upon a small s.p.a.ce, which doubtless had been intended by the builder of the house to be beautified with flowers; but Mrs.

Durand's front yard was closely paved with red brick. Not a flower, or a vine, or a bush broke the monotony, which, however, was not wearisome, as the yard was small.

A high board fence enclosed the little yard on each side. Close to the gate stood a large, old poplar, strangely drawn toward the quiet narrow street, as if weary of the unattractiveness of the house.

Lottie was nervous; she dreaded the reception she felt sure awaited her.

The only thing that occurred to her to do was to knock, and she did so.

Receiving no response, she knocked again and waited. There was still no response, and thinking she had not been heard, she knocked again and again.

At length, just as she had decided that her aunt must be out, a calm voice from behind the door said in deliberate tones:

”If you will take the trouble to turn the k.n.o.b, the door might open.”

This idea had not occurred to Lottie, and the knowledge that the door was not locked somewhat confused her. However, she opened the door, and went in.