Poor fellow, poor fellow!"
Mrs. Bailey in due time sent Elizabeth off to the suite of rooms that she
said were to be hers exclusively, and arose to bedeck herself for another
day. Elizabeth was a new toy, and she anticipated playing with her. It
put new zest into a life that had grown monotonous.
Elizabeth, meanwhile, was surveying her quarters, and wondering what
Lizzie would think if she could see her. According to orders, the coachman
had taken Robin to the stable, and he was already rolling in all the
luxuries of a horse of the aristocracy, and congratulating himself on the
good taste of his mistress to select such a stopping-place. For his part
he was now satisfied not to move further. This was better than the
wilderness any day. Oats like these, and hay such as this, were not to be
found on the plains.
Toward evening the grave butler, with many a deprecatory glance at the
neighborhood, arrived at the door of Mrs. Brady, and delivered himself of
the following message to that astonished lady, backed by her daughter and
her granddaughter, with their ears stretched to the utmost to hear every
syllable:
"Mrs. Merrill Wilton Bailey sends word that her granddaughter, Miss
Elizabeth, has reached her home safely, and will remain with her. Miss
Elizabeth will come sometime to see Mrs. Brady, and thank her for her
kindness during her stay with her."
The butler bowed, and turned away with relief. His dignity and social
standing had not been so taxed by the family demands in years.
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