In the morning the woman was up with the first light. And as the men
came grumbling in to breakfast, the round face wore its placid smile.
They joked her and ate hastily and departed for the open field. It was
part of a steady policy--to be always in the open, busy, hard-working
men who could not afford to lose an hour. The excursion had been a
quick, restless revolt--against weeks of weeding and planting and
digging.... But they had had their lesson. They were not likely to stir
from their strip of market garden on the plain--not till the time was
up.
As the woman went about her work, she listened, and stopped and went to
the door--for some sound from upstairs. Presently she went up and opened
the door... and looked in.
The child lay with one hand thrown above her head--a drawn look in
the softly arched brow and half-parted lips. The woman bent over her,
listening--and placed her hand on the small wrist and counted--waiting.
The eyes flashed open--and looked at her. “I thought you were Nono,”
said the child. A wistful look filled her face and her lip quivered a
little--out of it--and steadied itself. “You are Mrs. Seabury,” she said
quietly.
“Yes,” said the woman cheerfully. “Time to get up, dearie.” She turned
away and busied herself with the clothes hanging from their hooks.
The child’s eyes followed her--dully. “I don’t think I care to get up,”
she said at last.
The woman brought the clothes and placed them by the bed, and smiled
down at her. “There’s something nice to-day,” she said casually. “We’re
going outdoors to-day--”
“_Can_ I?” said the child. She flashed a smile and sat up. “Can _I_
go out-of-doors?” It was a little cry of waiting--and the woman’s hand
dashed across her eyes--at the keenness of it. Then she smiled--the
round, assuring smile, and held up the clothes. “You hurry up and dress
and eat your breakfast,” she said, “--a good, big breakfast--and we are
going--out in the sun--you and me.” She nodded cheerfully and went out.
The child put one foot over the edge of the bed and looked down at it--a
little wistfully--and placed the other beside it. They were very dark,
little feet--a queer, brown colour--and the legs above them, were the
same curious brown--and the small straight back--as she stepped from
the bed and slipped off her nightgown and bent above the clothes on the
chair. The colour ran up to her throat--around it, and over the whole
sunny face and hands and arms--a strange, eclipsing, brown disguise.
There had been a quick, sharp plan to take her abroad and they prepared
her hastily against risks on board the steamer. The plan had been
abandoned as too dangerous. But the colour clung to the soft skin; and
the hair, cropped close to the neck, had a stubby, uncouth look. No
one seeking Betty Harris, would have looked twice at the queer, little,
brownie-like creature, dressing itself with careful haste. It lifted a
plaid dress from the chair--large squares of red and green plaid--and
looked at it with raised brows and dropped it over the cropped head. The
skirt came to the top of the rough shoes on the small feet. Betty Harris
looked down at the skirt--and smoothed it a little... and dropped on her
knees beside the bed--the red and green plaids sweeping around her--and
said the little prayer that Miss Stone had taught her to say at home.