"She has blue eyes, she has, like dad's and
mine--only prettier. She is just the beautifullest thing I ever saw,
ain't she, dad? and Ma'am says she must have cost a lot."
Malcolm smiled, but there was a pitiful look in his eyes. Even in
these few days Kit's face had grown thinner and more pinched, and
the shrill voice was weaker. There was no longer a stiff halo of
curls under the sun-bonnet; they hung in limp wisps about her face.
"Has the child been ill?" he asked, and then Caleb looked at him in
a dazed, nervous fashion.
"Not to call ill, sir, but just a bit piny and dwiny from the heat.
Our place is like the Black Hole of Calcutta for stuffiness. She is
that languid and fretty that we can't get her to eat, so my wife
made me take her out for an airing."
Malcolm pondered for a moment. Then a sudden inspiration came to
him. There was a fruiterer in the Strand, and he was just thinking
of carrying a basket of fruit to Verity. He bade Caleb follow him
slowly, and a few minutes later a great bunch of roses and a paper
bag of white-heart cherries and another of greengages were packed
into the perambulator; some sponge-cakes and a crisp little brown
loaf were also purchased for Kit's tea, and then they went rejoicing
on their way.
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