"
Hildegarde could not speak. The thought of anything so dreadful, so
overwhelming as this, coming so suddenly, too, upon her, seemed to take
away her usually ready speech, and she was dumb, gazing at the cheerful
face before her with wide eyes of pity and wonderment. But Pink Chirk
did not like to be pitied, as a rule; and she almost laughed at her
visitor's horror-stricken face.
"You mustn't look so!" she cried. "It's very kind of you to be sorry,
but it isn't as if I were really _ill_, you know. I can _almost_ stand
on one foot,--that is, I can bear enough weight on it to get from my bed
to my chair without help. That is a _great_ thing! And then when I am
once in my chair, why I can go almost anywhere. Farmer Hartley gave me
this chair," she added, looking down at it, and patting the arm
tenderly, as if it were a living friend; "isn't it a beauty?"
It was a pretty chair, made of cherry wood, with cushions of
gay-flowered chintz; and Hilda, finding her voice again, praised it
warmly. "This is its summer dress," said Pink, her eyes sparkling with
pleasure. "Underneath, the cushions are covered with soft crimson cloth,
oh, so pretty, and so warm-looking! I am always glad when it's time to
take the chintz covers off. And yet I am always glad to put them on
again," she added, "for the chintz is pretty too, I think: and besides,
I know then that summer is really come."
"You like summer best?" asked Hilda.
"Oh, yes!" she replied.
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