She left her roses at Miss Waite's door with the
announcement that they were hers for the day, but that she would have
to call for them and claim them at night. The oddness of the
arrangement, and the quaint way in which Cicely made it, won Miss
Waite's heart, and when she heard the girl's step in the hall that
evening, she opened the door.
"Come right in," she called, cordially. "I can't spare the roses until
after supper, so you will have to come in and eat with me. You've no
idea how much I have enjoyed them!"
Cicely paused timidly on the threshold. There were the gorgeous
American Beauties in a tall vase in the middle of the table, between
some softly shaded candles. And there was a bright lamp on the open
piano, and a glowing coal fire in the grate. The little table was
spread for two, and a savoury smell of oysters stole out from the
chafing-dish Miss Wade had just uncovered.
"We'll celebrate the New Year together, and drink to our friendship in
good strong coffee," said Miss Waite, lifting the steaming pot from
the hearth. "Draw your chair right up to the table, please, while
everything is hot."
Only one who has been as cold and hungry and homesick as Cicely was,
can know how much that evening meant to her, or how the cheer and the
warmth of it all comforted her lonely little heart.
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