Page:Elizabeth Jordan--Tales of the cloister.djvu/52

 his six teeth shining, his voice cooing appeals to her to "wait for Fweddie."

She never did. Unexpected doors swallowed her up, dark and unexplored corners wrapped her in mystery, and on the edge of the abysses into which she had seemingly dropped Frederick Addison was wont to pause in wide-eyed wonder. There was comedy in the little drama, but there was tragedy too.

The summer came and went, and Frederick continued on his sunny way. He spent the long days in the garden, rolling his little wheelbarrow up and down the path and over the flower beds, leaving devastation in his wake, to be freely forgiven. His orbit could be traced by crumbs of the seed-cake he was usually eating, which was fortunate, for he fell asleep in out-of-the-way corners, and had to be discovered by rescue bands. He had for each of his favorite Sisters some weird and mysterious name by which he called her, and to which she proudly answered. The ease and startling familiarity of his manner became intensified as time passed. He demanded songs and "tories" from the Mother Superior, and took the pins out of her veil and showed a feverish interest in the question of her ears—which, of course, her coif concealed. It was rumored that on one occasion he refused to be comforted until