Lindsay, left alone, took off her hat, and with a pull and screw at her necktie and collar-button, dropped into a chair that seemed to hold its fat arms up for her.  She smiled sleepily and comfortably.  “I’m having a right good time,” she said to herself, “but it’s funny.  I feel as if I lived here, and I love that old housekeeper-nurse of the Governor’s.  I wonder what the Governor is like?  I wonder—­” And at this point she became aware, with only slight surprise, of a little boy with a crown on his head who offered her a slice of bread and butter and sugar a yard square, and told her he had kept it for her twenty-five years.  She was about to reason with him that it could not possibly be good to eat in that case, when something jarred the brain that was slipping so easily down into oblivion, and as her eyes opened again she saw Mrs. Mooney’s solid shape bending over the tub in the bath-room, and a noise of running water sounded pleasant and refreshing.

“Oh, did I go to sleep?” she asked, sitting up straight and blinking wide-open eyes.

“There!  I knew it would wake you, and I couldn’t a-bear to do it, my dear, but it would never do for you to sleep like that in your clothes, and I drew your bath warm, thinking it would rest you better, but I can just change it hot or cold as it suits you.  And here’s the little lunch for you, and I feel as if it was my own little boy I was taking care of again; the year he was ten it was he ate so much at night.  I saw him just now, and he’s that tired from his meeting—­it’s a shame how hard he has to work for this State, time and time again.  He said ’Good-night, Mary,’ he said, just the way he did years ago—­such a little gentleman he always was.  The dearest and the handsomest thing he was; they used to call him ‘the young prince,’ he was that handsome and full of spirit.  He told me to say he hoped for the pleasure of seeing Miss Lee at breakfast to-morrow at nine; but if you should be tired, Miss Lee, or prefer your breakfast up here, which you can have it just as well as not, you know.  And here I’m talking you to death again, and you ought to stop me, for when I begin about the Governor I never know when to stop myself.  Just put up your foot, please, and I’ll take your shoes off,” And while she unlaced Lindsay’s small boots with capable fingers she apologized profusely for talking—­talking as much again.

“There’s nothing to excuse.  It’s mighty interesting to hear about him,” said Lindsay.  “I shall enjoy meeting him that much more.  Is there a picture of him anywhere around?” looking about the room.

That was a lucky stroke.  Mary Mooney parted the black ribbon that was tied beneath her neat white collar and turned her face up, all pleased smiles, to the girl, who leaned down to examine an ivory miniature set as a brooch.  It was a sunny-faced little boy, with thick straight golden hair and fearless brown eyes—­a sweet childish face very easy to admire, and Lindsay admired it enough to satisfy even Mrs. Mooney.