Netta had a small book in her hand, which she gave Rowland to look at.
'Mother gave me that when I was ill years ago--how long ago? How old is
Minette?'
'She must be nearly eight, I think,' said Rowland, turning over the
small, well-read Testament that had once been his mother's.
'I like that book now, Rowland!' said Netta. 'I am so glad you have come
back. It seemed so lonesome when you were gone. Ha! ha! Howel used to
say I must say _lonely_ and not lonesome. Are you sure he won't come and
find you here?'
'Quite sure. And I am going to bring another old friend to see you?--you
remember Gladys?'
'Gladys! No, I don't remember her. What! The Irish beggar? I don't like
her, and she don't like me. I think I was very unkind to her. Yes, I
should like to see her once to ask her pardon.'
Minette awoke just at this moment, and Rowland took her on his knee, and
gave her some supper, and tried to make Netta eat, but it was evident
that she had neither appetite nor inclination for food, though she did
her best to please her brother.
'This is like old times, Rowland,' she said. 'I like it better than
grandeur. When will Gladys come? Owen told me she saved mother's life.
Is it true? Why doesn't mother come?'
'Would you like to see Gladys to-night, Netta?'
'Yes.
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