There was love in her gentle eyes, and, as they filled with
love, they grew so like Mercy's eyes that Lydia Purcell almost
loathed her. She gave her a little push away, and said sharply:
"Get away, get away, do," and turned her back, pretending to busy
herself over some cold meat.
Cecile went slowly and sought Maurice. She knew there would be no
dinner in store for her that day. But what was dinner compared to the
knowledge she hoped to gain!
"Maurice, dear," she said, as she put the basket into his hand,
"this is a real lovely day, and you and Toby are to spend it in the
woods, and I'll come presently if I can. And you might leave a little
bit of dinner if you're not very hungry, Maurice. There's lovely
apple-pie in the basket, and there's milk, but a bit of bread will do
for me. Try and leave a little bit of bread for me when I come."
Maurice nodded, his face beaming at the thought of the apple-pie and
the milk. But Toby's brown eyes said intelligently:
"We'll keep a little bit of _every_thing for you, Cecile, and
I'll take care of Maurice." And Cecile, comforted that Toby would
take excellent care of Maurice, ran away into old Mrs. Bell's room.
"May I sit with you, and may I do a little bit more of Mercy's
sampler, please, Mistress Bell?" she asked.
The old lady, who was propped up in the armchair in the sunshine,
received her in her usual half-puzzled half-pleased way.
"There, Mercy, child, you've grown so queer in your talk that I
sometimes fancy you're half a changeling.
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