“Let 'em call,” said Myrtella, to whom these comparisons of past places were replete with interest. “It's just Miss Hattie; if she's got anything worth sayin', she can come down and say it.”
It was evidently worth saying, for a moment later, a thin, sharp-featured girl of fourteen thrust her head in at the door.
“Myrtella, I told you I wanted that white dress fixed. I am going to wear it this afternoon.”
“It's too early to wear summer clothes,” Myrtella announced, continuing her ironing. “I never sewed the buttons on a purpose, so 's you couldn't wear it.”
“Well I will wear it! I am going right straight up stairs and pin it on.”
As the door slammed, Myrtella turned a beaming face on Norah:
“It ain't hemmed!” she said with satisfaction.
Norah shrugged her shoulders:
“It would be a cold day that'd see anybody makin' me do the cookin' and nursin', and sewin' for a family of four, for five dollars a week!”
Myrtella glared at her across the ironing board: