When Helena went back to the house, her face was red, and her whole
body tingling; every now and then her breath came in a gasp of rage.
At that moment she believed that she hated everybody in the world--the
cruel, foolish, arrogant world!--even the thought of David brought no
softening. And indeed, when that first fury had subsided, she still
did not want to see the little boy; that destroying wind of anger had
beaten her complacency to the dust, and she could not with dignity
meet the child's candid eyes. It was not until the next day that she
could find any pleasure in him, or even in the prospect of Lloyd's
visit; and when these interests began to revive, sudden gusts of rage
would tear her, and she would fall into abrupt reveries, declaring to
herself that she would tell Lloyd how she had been insulted! But she
reminded herself that she must choose just the right moment to enlist
his sympathy for the affront; she must decide with just what caress
she would tell him that she meant to leave Old Chester, and come, with
David, to live in Philadelphia. (Oh, would Frederick ever die?)...
But, little by little, she put the miserable matter behind her, and
filled the days before Lloyd's arrival with plans for the few golden
hours that they were to be together, when he was to have her "all to
himself." But, alas, the plans were all disarranged by David.
Now Saturday, when you come to think of it, is always a day of joy--
even if there must be a visitor. To begin with, there is no school, so
you have plenty of time to attend to many important affairs connected
with playthings. Then, the gravel paths must be raked and the garden
made tidy for Sunday, and so there is brush and refuse to be burned;
and that means baking potatoes in the ashes, and (as you will
remember), unless you stand, coughing, in the smoke to watch them, the
potatoes are so apt to burn. Also, the phaeton is washed with peculiar
care to make it fine for church; the wheels must be jacked up, one
after the other, and spun round and round; then, if you go about it
the right way, you can induce George to let you take the big, gritty
sponge out of the black water of the stable bucket, and after
squeezing it hard in your two hands, you may wipe down the spokes of
one wheel. Besides these things, there are always the rabbits. Right
after breakfast, David had run joyously out to see Mr. and Mrs. Smith,
but while he poked lettuce leaves between the bars of their hutch, the
thought struck him that this was the moment to demonstrate that
interesting fact in natural history, so well known to those of your
friends who happen to be stablemen, but doubted by Dr. Lavendar,
namely, that a hair from the pony's tail will, if soaked in water,
turn into a snake. David shuddered at the word, but ran to the stable
and carefully pulled two hairs from the pony's silvery-gray tail. The
operation was borne with most obliging patience, but when he stooped
to pick up another beautiful long hair from the straw--for when you
are making snakes you might as well make plenty, alas! the pony was so
absent-minded as to step back--and down came the iron-shod hoof on the
small, eager hand!