The mill had left her no
time for these things, and at fifteen she was as ignorant as a
child."
"You must miss her."
"I do very much."
"Was she pretty?"
"She looked like a little rose sometimes," and David smiled to
himself as he fed the gray hens.
Christie immediately made a picture of the "lively little thing"
with a face "like a rose," and was uncomfortably conscious that she
did not look half as well feeding doves as Kitty must have done.
Just then David handed her the basket, saying in the paternal way
that half amused, half piqued her: "It, is getting too chilly for
you here: take these in please, and I'll bring the milk directly."
In spite of herself she smiled, as a sudden vision of the elegant
Mr. Fletcher, devotedly carrying her book or beach-basket, passed
through her mind; then hastened to explain the smile, for David
lifted his brows inquiringly, and glanced about him to see what
amused her.
"I beg your pardon: I've lived alone so much that it seems a little
odd to be told to do things, even if they are as easy and pleasant
as this."
"I am so used to taking care of people, and directing, that I do so
without thinking. I won't if you don't like it," and he put out his
hand to take back the basket with a grave, apologetic air.
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