Mary told me. You're prettier than Mary.
Or Dr. Lavendar." This was a very long speech for David, and to make
up for it he was silent for several minutes. He took her hand, and
twisted the little grass ring round and round on her finger; and then,
suddenly, his chin quivered. "I don't like you. You're going away," he
said; he stamped his foot and threw himself against her knee in a
paroxysm of tears. "I hate you!"
It was so unexpected, and so entirely unlike David, that Helena forgot
her own pain in soothing him. And, indeed, when she had said she would
send him some candy--"and a false-face?" David blubbered;--"yes, dear
precious!" she promised;--he quite cheered up, and dragging at her
hand, he went skipping along beside her out to the green gate in the
hedge.
"I'll stop at the Rectory in the morning," she said, when she kissed
him, bravely, in the twilight; "so I'll see you again, dear."
"'By!" said David. And he had gone.
She stood staring after him, fiercely brushing the tears away, because
they dimmed the little joyous figure, trotting into the November dusk.
The morning broke, gray and cloudy. William King had had his early
breakfast; of course he had! Rather than fail in a housekeeper's duty,
Martha would have sat up all night. When the doctor started for that
call out into the country, Helena was just getting into the stage at
the Stuffed Animal House.
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