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"He was goin' past," Evangeline put in, "an' I asked him, if he uster be a doctor, wouldn't he please to be one now an' 'xamine Elly Precious's spots." "Measles," Stefana said briefly and hopelessly. "Shall we send for Mother, or what'll we do? Aunt Sarah isn't knitting." "Aunt Sarah " began poor Miss Theodosia. Would she ever get used to little Flaggs?
We came over to be shady just once more. We didn't s'pose you would come home till to-morrow, did we, Elly Precious?" "I came last night," Miss Theodosia replied with crispness. She stood in her doorway, apparently waiting for something which apparently was not to happen. The child and Elly Precious sat on in seeming calm. "Yes'm.
"You mean poetry? Mercy gracious, poetry!" "Something lovely," nodded Miss Theodosia a little vaguely. If it be poetry, the Story Man must do that part, too. A little later, when Evangeline had shouldered Elly Precious and departed and the Story Man had sauntered again into sight, she hailed him with relief. Displaying the snowy little cake, she explained the situation. "You must do the rest.
Father showed me how to make a campfire with only one match." "All right," said Mr. Welles. "I do feel a little leg-weary. I'm not so used to these mountain scrambles as you are." "I'll clean the fish, too," said Paul; "maybe you don't like to. Elly can't abide it." He did not say that he did not like it very well himself, having always to get over the sick feeling it gave him.
She looked down helplessly at the dying creature. That tiny, tiny scrap of down-covered flesh to be alive, to contain the miracle and mystery of life, and now to be struggling, all alone, with the miracle and mystery of death! The little thing opened its glazing eyes once more, drew a long breath, and lay still. An age-old inherited knowledge and experience told Elly what bad happened.
Well, there was one, anyhow, of Marise's audience who often gave her a silent hand-clap of admiration. The wailing, lugubrious notes of the negro lament rose now, Paul's voice loud and clear and full of relish. "It takes a heavy stimulant to give Paul his sensations," thought his father. "What would take the hide right off of Elly, just gives him an agreeable tingle."
Why stop for grammatic rules at a time like this? "Why, he him. I said I liked him, an' you said you lov " "I have been talking about Elly Precious, naturally," Miss Theodosia returned stiffly. "You are very careless with your pronouns, Evangeline," she added with an effect of severity. Her cheeks that persisted still in being a girl's cheeks had grown a warm, becoming pink.
Marise began a process of mentally weighing which was more important, Scriabine or Elly's chicken. Elly looked at her mother with imploring eyes. "Mother, he looked awfully sick. And he is my nicest little Downy-head, the one I've always loved the best. I've tried to take such good care of him. Mother, I'm worried about him."
Game little Elly Precious, to pretend! She stooped and kissed his eyes, close shut in that dream of going home. "They are cleaning the house," she whispered, "they can't hardly wait." A prescience of awful loneliness swept over her. She saw Theodosia Baxter lone and babyless again set back in her empty house. The curtain had gone down would go down day after to-morrow on the last beautiful act.
Paul had scared her so, when he said, so stone-wally, the way Paul always spoke as if that settled everything, that none of the little girls at school wore rubber boots, and he thought Elly oughtn't to be allowed to look so queer. It made him almost ashamed of his sister, he said.
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