Annie Kilburn - Page 28/183

Probably Mrs. Bolton believed too that a man's mind was agile enough for

these conjectures; but she said she did not suppose he would take it in

that way; she added that he stayed longer than she expected, because the

little girl seemed to like it so much; she always cried when she had to go

away.

"Do you mean that she's attached to the place?" demanded Annie.

"Well, yes, she is," Mrs. Bolton admitted. "And the cat."

Annie had a great desire to tell Mrs. Bolton that she had behaved very

stupidly. But she knew Mrs. Bolton would not stand that, and she had to

content herself with saying, severely, "The next time he comes, let me know

without fail, please. What is the child like?" she asked.

"Well, I guess it must favour the mother, if anything. It don't seem to

take after him any."

"Why don't you have it here often, then," asked Annie, "if it's so much

attached to the place?"

"Well I didn't know as you wanted to have it round," replied Mrs. Bolton

bluntly.

Annie made a "Tchk!" of impatience with her obtuseness, and asked, "Where

is Mr. Peck staying?"

"Well, he's staying at Mis' Warner's till he can get settled."

"Is it far from here?"

"It's down in the north part of the village--Over the Track."

"Is Mr. Bolton at home?"

"Yes, he is," said Mrs. Bolton, with the effect of not intending to deny

it.

"Then I want him to hitch up--now--at once--right away--and go and get the

child and bring her here to dinner with me." Annie got so far with her

severity, feeling that it was needed to mask a proceeding so romantic,

perhaps so silly. She added timidly, "Can he do it?"

"I d'know but what he can," said Mrs. Bolton, dryly, and whatever her

feeling really was in regard to the matter, her manner gave no hint of it.

Annie did not know whether Bolton was going on her errand or not, from Mrs.

Bolton, but in ten or twelve minutes she saw him emerge from the avenue

into the street, in the carry-all, tightly curtained against the storm.

Half an hour later he returned, and his wife set down in the library a

shabbily dressed little girl, with her cheeks bright and her hair curling

from the weather, and staring at Annie, and rather disposed to cry. She

said hastily, "Bring in the cat, Mrs. Bolton; we're going to have the cat

to dinner with us."