Carolyn Wells - The Staying Guest

At the close of her sister’s speech, she suddenly burst into tears; and the times in her life when Miss Priscilla Flint had cried were very few indeed.

Then the younger sister was frightened at what she had done, and tried to pacify the weeping lady.

“I know you’re right, Dorinda,” said Miss Priscilla, between her sobs; “I – I knew it all along, – and I suppose we shall have to keep her. Father would have wished it so, – and – and I wouldn’t mind it so much if she wouldn’t – wouldn’t leave the doors open.”

While the aunts were deciding upon Ladybird’s future, old Matthew was wandering down the garden path toward the orchard.

“She bates the Dutch, that child,” he said to himself. “Now I’ll wager me dinner that she’s hidin’ under a cabbage-leaf, or in some burrd’s nest.”

But if so, Ladybird made no sign, and old Matthew tramped up and down the orchard, peering anxiously about while the shadows deepened.

At last, as he stood beneath an old gnarled apple-tree, he heard what seemed to be a far-away crooning sort of song.

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