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It was not upon Amarilly, the sharer of her burdens, nor upon the baby that Mrs. Jenkins lavished her tenderness. Bud crept closest because he had been the one most dependent upon her care. When the little singer ceased, the mother arose and unpinned the garments, carrying them in armfuls to the huge basket in the middle of the park.
"She's orful good to us," continued Amarilly, "and it was through her, Mr. St. John, that we got the surpluses." "It was, indeed, Amarilly; but my name is not St. John. It is John Meredith." "She was jest kiddin' me, then!" deduced Amarilly appreciatively. "I thought at fust as how yer name was St. Mark, and she said you could never be a St. Mark, that you was St. John. She likes a joke. Mr.
Amarilly diplomatically proceeded to put out "feelers," and after much maneuvering joyously imparted to the Boarder the information that Lily Rose loved to look at the one solitary tree that adorned the Jenkins lot, because to her it meant "the country." "So that's the way she loves to look out," informed Amarilly, "and, you see there isn't any window on that side of your rooms."
Every day there was the new word eagerly grasped and faithfully remembered. "Fer," "set," "spile," "orter," and the like were gradually entirely eliminated from her vocabulary. Unconsciously she acquired "atmosphere" from her environment. In her spare moments Amarilly read aloud to Derry, while he painted, he choosing the book at random from his library.
In a few moments she returned to the kitchen for sympathy. "I am so disappointed," she sighed, "but then, I might have expected something would happen. It always does at my weddings." "What is it?" asked Amarilly, apprehensive lest the wedding might be declared off.
My new pupil's name is Amarilly Jenkins, and she has educational longings which cannot be satisfied because she has to work, so I am going to enter her in St. Mark's night-school when she has finished a special course with the private tutor she now has." "Colette," said the young minister earnestly, "why do you continually try to show yourself to me in a false light?
"I don't see," meditated Amarilly, "what possessed the cow. She's been so gentle always, and then to fly to pieces that way, and riddle the surplice to bits! It was lucky there was nothing else on the line." "It's very simple," said Colette. "I suppose she wanted to go to the train. Maybe she expected to meet a friend.
The rector had but one surplice, and that had been stolen from the clothes-line, mayhap by one of his dusky flock; thus it was that Amarilly received a call from the Reverend Virgil Washington, who had heard of the errant surplice, which he offered to purchase. Naturally his proposition was met by a firm and unalterable refusal.
She had been working absorbedly with pencil and paper for some time when she looked up from her sheet of figures with a flushed race and a Q.E.D. written in each shining eye. "Say!" she announced to the family who were gathered about the long table. Instantly they were all attention, for they always looked to Amarilly for something startling in the way of bulletins.
Then a troubled look came into her eyes. "Mebby I shouldn't tell you what she says. Flamingus says I talk too much." "It was all right to tell me, Amarilly," he replied with radiant eyes, "as long as she said nothing personal." Amarilly looked mystified. "I mean," he explained gently, "that she said nothing of me, nothing that you should not repeat.
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