"You have
your roll, your tea, your orange, as you ordered, dear, and just a bit
of currant jelly besides."
"Currant jelly? Well, I don't know,--perhaps it will taste good. 'T was
so like Nora to send it up; she's always trying to tempt my appetite,
you know. Dear me, girls, I wonder if you realize what a treasure we
have in that cook!"
"Yes, dear, I know," murmured Margaret hastily. "And now the tea,
Mother--it's getting colder every minute. Will you have the orange
first?"
The slender hands of the blind woman hovered for a moment over the
table, then dropped slowly and found by touch the position of spoons,
plates, and the cup of tea.
"Yes, I have everything. I don't need you any longer, Meg. I don't like
to take so much of your time, dear--you should let Betty do for me."
"But I want to do it," laughed Margaret. "Don't you want me?"
"Want you! That isn't the question, dear," objected Mrs. Whitmore
gently. "Of course, a maid's service can't be compared for an instant
with a daughter's love and care; but I don't want to be selfish--and you
and Kathie never let Betty do a thing for me. There, there! I won't
scold any more. What are you going to do to-day, Meg?"
Margaret hesitated. She was sitting by the window now, in a low chair
near her sister's.
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