"You see I am over the way still," laughed the little old lady. "Now,
tell me all about the primroses." So Ida told everything, and
apologized for her awkward speeches to the housekeeper.

"I don't know your name yet," said she.

"Call me Mrs. Overtheway still, my dear, if you please," said the
little old lady. "I like it."

So Ida was no wiser on this score.

"I was so sorry to hear that you had been made ill on my account,"
said Mrs. Overtheway. "I have been many times to ask after you, and
to-night I asked leave to come to tea. I wish I could do something to
amuse you, you poor little invalid. I know you must feel dull."

Ida's cheeks flushed.

"If you would only tell me a story," she said, "I do so like hearing
Nurse's stories. At least she has only one, but I like it. It isn't
exactly a story either, but it is about what happened in her last
place. But I am rather tired of it. There's Master Henry--I like him
very much, he was always in mischief; and there's Miss Adelaide, whose
hair curled naturally--at least with a damp brush--I like her; but I
don't have much of them; for Nurse generally goes off about a quarrel
she had with the cook, and I never could tell what they quarrelled
about, but Nurse said cook was full of malice and deceitfulness, so
she left. I'm rather tired of it."

"What sort of a story shall I tell you?" asked Mrs. Overtheway.