"YES," said Mrs. Hammond, a little sigh in her voice as she spoke, "Mr. Hart is going with us; I don't know how long he will stay. I'm afraid there is very little on Monteagle to hold him."
Two children sat on the extreme end of the broken steps; one was pale, thin, hollow-eyed and sorrowful. The other was rosy-cheeked, chubby, and dirty. The pale one was perhaps twelve years old; the other, somewhat younger.
"Only hear that name!" said the hollow-eyed girl. "Monteagle! Doesn't it make you feel cool just to think it over?"
"I didn't think it over," said Rosy Cheek. "What is it, and where is it?"
"I don't know where it is," spoken very wearily, as though it was an effort to speak at all. "In Heaven, maybe; the word sounds like it. Monteagle! It must be high, and cool, and still. I wonder what it feels like to be cool and still? Oh! How 'hot' it is! O dear me!"
There was such a world of longing and weariness in the sentence, that Mrs. Hammond turned and looked curiously at the girl; then uttered a little exclamation of surprise, and perhaps dismay.
"Who is that girl, and what is the matter with her?"