"There's five dozen
more collar-bands I must stitch an' buttonhole t'night--so go your ways,
my dear." So saying, Mrs. Bowker went back to her labour, which was very
hard labour indeed, while Hermione led the way into a tiny room, where,
on a small, neat truckle-bed covered by a faded quilt, a small, pale
child lay fading fast. But at sight of her visitors, two big, brown eyes
grew bigger yet, and her pale, thin little cheeks flushed eagerly.
"Oh, Hermy dear!" she cried, clasping frail hands, "oh, Hermy, you've
brought him--you've brought me our fairy prince at last!"
Now what was there in these childish words to cause Hermione's eyes to
droop so suddenly as she took the bottle from Ravenslee's hand, or her
rounded cheek to flush so painfully as she stooped to meet the child's
eager kiss, or, when she turned away to measure a dose of the medicine,
to be such an unconscionable time over it? Observing all of which,
Ravenslee forthwith saluted the small invalid with a grave bow, battered
hat gracefully flourished.
"It is truly an honour to meet you, princess!" said he, and lifting the
child's frail little hand, he touched it to his lips.
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