Leave that to me."
Mrs. Wainwright felt as if she had been taking a tonic. To the lady
living her days out in her own chamber, and unaccustomed to excitement,
there was something very surprising and very stimulating too in the
swift way of settling things and the fearlessness of this young girl.
Though she had yielded very reluctantly to her brother's wish to keep
Grace apart from her family and wholly his own for so many years, she
now saw there was good in it. Her little girl had developed into a
resolute, capable and strong sort of young woman, who could make use of
whatever tools her education had put into her hands.
"This hasn't been quite the right kind of Sunday talk, mother," said
Grace, "but I haven't been here three days without seeing there's a
cloud, and I don't like to give up to clouds. I'm like the old woman who
must take her broom and sweep the cobwebs out of the sky."
"God helping you, my dear, you will succeed. You have swept some cobwebs
out of my sky already."
"God helping me, yes, dear. Thank you for saying that. Now don't you
want me to sing to you? I'll darken your room and set the door ajar, and
then I'll go to the parlor and play soft, rippling, silvery things, and
sing to you, and you will fall asleep while I'm singing, and have a
lovely nap before they all come home."
As Grace went down the stairs, she paused a moment at the door of the
big dining-room, "large as a town hall," her father sometimes said.
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