More than once, while hurrying along the rough road, she regretted her own precipitation, wondering whether she might not find herself to be "in for" a good deal more than she had calculated on. It was a positive relief to her mind to find Jessie absent, and not at once to have to confess what she had done. Not that she supposed Jessie to be likely to object, or that she would have cared if Jessie had objected, but only that she shrank oddly from appearing in a more benevolent character than her wont.
She threw off bonnet and shawl, lighted a fire in the spare room, made the bed, which was always kept well aired, and put a hot bottle between the sheets. Then, under a queer sense of shyness, she resumed her seat and her work, to be found by Jessie, as already described. And there can be no question that Miss Perkins was charmed to seize upon an excuse for putting her niece to bed out of the way, and so deferring for a time the need to tell her news.
Mildred Pattison's arrival happened opportunely, when Jessie was sound asleep. Still secrecy could not be long preserved; and when Miss Perkins, after long delay, made her appearance anew in the attic bedroom, it was to find Jessie sitting up in bed, listening with all her ears.
"Aunt Barbara, I'm positive there's somebody in the room below."
"You didn't eat that gruel, Jessie."
"Oh, I couldn't. It was so horrid. And I'm not ill,—not in the least ill. Is there somebody in the spare room? Why mayn't I know?"
"There's no reason why you mayn't, I suppose."
"Then who is it? Do tell me."
"Nobody of consequence to make a fuss about. It's just the poor creature off the wreck."
"Oh-h-h!" Jessie's eyes and mouth widened in sympathy.