as he touched his cap, he was off at a rapid pace. As her mother talked, therefore, Amy knew that the trouble with Fritz had already begun, and yet she was not willing to lift her hand to change the state of affairs.
As she painted, Mrs. Redmond studied her daughter’s face, and if she didn’t read exactly what was passing in her mind, she guessed the state of affairs pretty closely.
She knew that she had said all that was necessary, and that if Amy refused to be guided by her, she must take the consequences. She knew, too, that Amy was by no means an obstinate girl, and that she was more inclined than many of her age to be guided. There was only one difficulty,—if Amy once made up her mind definitely on a given subject, there was small likelihood of her changing. The only possible way to move her, was to approach her before she had reached the place where she considered that her mind was made up.
“There’s the bell; run Amy and see what cousin Joan wants,” said Mrs. Redmond. She had said all that she intended to say at this time, and she was willing to wait and let the seed germinate.
Amy found cousin Joan restless and impatient. The little Murphy girl, who came in in the morning to do the rougher work in Mrs. Redmond’s little kitchen, and dust cousin Joan’s room, had gone home.
“She forgot to leave me a glass of water, and she did n’t pull down the blind at the east window, so that my eyes just ache with all that light, and I do wish I had some one to read to me. I declare, Amy, I hope if you
