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Papa, she declared to Bernard, should be made to say. "Papa, when Deleah and I want our hats and dresses for the spring, what are we to do?" she asked her father, with that note of aggression in her voice with which he had become familiar from her. "Do? Go without them," he promptly replied. "You know very well we can't go without clothes, papa."
Deleah Day, in her cotton frock of white with tiny black spots, a wide, embroidered collar tied with black ribbon at her throat, her black, thickly waving hair brushed behind her ears and gathered at the back of her small head, was an agreeable figure at the hearth to greet any poor worker on his return to rest and fireside. He did not want any supper, would have none.
A groom in charge of a saddle-horse by the entrance to the main building patted his horse's neck as he also looked on. Deleah, flinging herself from the door of the four-wheeler which had brought her, dashed through the yard, consciously seeing none of these things, which yet photographed themselves on her brain and remained indelibly printed there till her dying day.
"Was it love of you that made him mad, Deleah?" She was too shy of him yet, and too modest to answer the question by word of mouth; but he knew the answer. "He won't trouble you any more, Deleah," he said very gently. "He won't hurt me. He is dead." She would not believe it. It was impossible. "He can't be! He was with me half an hour ago. He was well as I am, and very strong. He can't be dead!"
Day had retired to write her letter to Bernard in the privacy of her own room, and Bessie, in radiant spirits, had gone off to dress for evening service, where she was to go escorted by Franky and Emily. Deleah was left in charge of the boarder.
"They are sent to me," smiled a conscious Bessie. She did not consider herself to be lying. What was sent to Deleah she continued to persuade herself was intended for her. "I know whose money goes for that," Sir Francis inwardly ejaculated. He glanced at his brother, hanging his foolish head from the window again. "I'm glad I came, after all. I'll put a stop to this," he resolved.
Back came the clerk with a slip of paper on which was written a name Sir Francis read to himself, and then aloud, looking questioningly upon the clerk, "Miss Deleah Day. Miss Deleah Day?" The clerk, having no information to give or suggestion to offer, continued to look respectfully at his employer's boots.
"The end, William?" "The end of the year. When the bills come in." "How did you think Bessie looked to-night?" "I thought my little Deleah was the belle of the ball." "Deleah is a child only. You never have eyes but for Deleah." "Bess was all right." "I thought she looked so fair and sweet. Her neck and arms are like milk, William. I wonder if Reggie Forcus means anything?" "Ba-a! Not he!
Oh, good afternoon, Miss Day. So you are not above coming into the shop sometimes, to bear your mama company?" "Above it!" said Deleah; and because she had to be as sweet as sugar to her mother's customers, she smiled upon Mrs. Potter, who turned from the counter to engage her in talk. "What for you, my dear?" Mrs.
She had it on her mind that he lived among them, lonely and apart, and often anxiously she pondered in her own mind the question did poor Mr. Gibbon get his money's worth? "Deleah always chops the candied peel herself," Bessie explained. "She eats it, and feeds Franky on it. Mama, I should think Deda will soon take all the profit off your mincemeat if she eats the citron peel."
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