"What's happened!
Where have you been? Did you fall down? Ah, my good gracious! Mercy
me!"
Robin caught her breath but did not say a word.
"You fell down on a flower bed where they'd been watering the
plants!" almost wept Anne. "You must have. There isn't that much
dirt anywhere else in the Gardens."
And when she took her charge home that was the story she told
Andrews. Out of Robin she could get nothing, and it was necessary
to have an explanation.
The truth, of which she knew nothing, was but the story of a child's
awful dismay and a child's woe at one of Life's first betrayals.
It would be left behind by the days which came and went--it would
pass--as all things pass but the everlasting hills--but in this way
it was that it came and wrote itself upon the tablets of a child's
day.
CHAPTER XI
"The child's always been well, ma'am," Andrews was standing, the
image of exact correctness, in her mistress' bedroom, while Feather
lay in bed with her breakfast on a convenient and decorative little
table. "It's been a thing I've prided myself on. But I should say
she isn't well now."
"Well, I suppose it's only natural that she should begin sometime,"
remarked Feather. "They always do, of course. I remember we all had
things when we were children. What does the doctor say? I hope it
isn't the measles, or the beginning of anything worse?"
"No, ma'am, it isn't.
Pages:
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163