Royal told him after breakfast. "The poor soul has not
been well for some time, and I heard last night that she is worse. I
have made up a few dainties for her as her appetite is almost gone, so
I understand."
Rod did not fancy this errand, for he remembered only too well the last
time he had seen Miss Arabella lying so still upon the sofa after her
affair of the heart. It was, therefore, with lagging steps that he
made his way across the field, carrying in his hand the little basket
filled with the good things Mrs. Royal had sent for the invalid.
Miss Arabella was in bed looking paler than ever, so Rod thought her
nose seemed longer than he had ever seen it. She was propped up with
several pillows, and her hair was done up in papers. She looked to the
boy like pictures he had seen of natives with funny head-dresses out in
the islands of the Pacific Ocean.
"So Mrs. Royal sent those things, did she!" she whined. "She might
have come herself. She has been here only three times this week, while
you haven't been near me for a long time. I might die here, and no one
would care. This is what people call a Christian land, is it?"
"What's the matter with you, Miss Arabella?"' Rod asked in surprise.
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