Would you like to go?"
"I'd love to," she answered, eagerly.
The clock ticked industriously, the fire crackled merrily upon the
hearth, and the wind howled outside. In the quiet room, Allison sat and
studied Isabel, with the firelight shining upon her face and her white
gown. She seemed much younger than her years.
"You're only a child," he said, aloud; "a little, helpless child."
"How long do you think it will be before I'm grown up?"
"I don't want you to grow up. I can remember now just how you looked the
day I told you about the scent bottles. You had on a pink dress, with a
sash to match, pink stockings, little white shoes with black buttons,
and the most fetching white sunbonnet. Your hair was falling in curls
all round your face and it was such a warm day that the curls clung to
your neck and annoyed you. You toddled over to me and said: 'Allison,
please fix my's turls.' Don't you remember?"
She smiled and said she had forgotten. "But," she added, truthfully,
"I've often wondered how I looked when I was dressed up."
"Then," he continued, "I told you how the scent bottles grew on the
roots of the rose bushes, and, after I went home, you went and pulled up
as many as you could.
Pages:
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87