Jane Helen Findlater > Green graves of Balgowrie

THE GREEN GRAVES OF BALGOWRIE
playroom door. At the sound of his voice it flew
open, and the children ran forward to meet him.
He sat down on the top step of the stair, taking
Lucie on to his knee.
“ Ah, Loo, my own, what cold little hands! ” he
said—for he petted Lucie extravagantly.
Henrietta stood beside them: she was growing
now into a tall, plain-looking girl. When they
played together, the sisters seemed wonderfully of
an age, except for Henrietta’s curious, pedantic
speech. But every now and then, when the games
were over, she would turn into quite another
creature, and the three years dividing her from
Lucie might have been ten.
As she stood just then looking down at Lucie
and Dr. Cornelius, she had taken one of these
grown-up turns. Her great dark eyes glowed with
tender admiration for all Lucie’s babyish charms
as she lay nestled against the Doctor’s arm, with
her yellow curls and dimpled cheeks.
“You really make a mistake, sir,” she said.
“ We are not cold—it is only superficial. We have
been playing that delightful game of the robber
and the balls that you invented for us with the
bowls.”
“ Come and sit here, Harrie,” said Dr. Cornelius,
making room for her on the step beside him. “ I
have something to tell you.”
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