Mrs. Cary shook her head. “No, she is at home crying her heart out about it, poor child.”
“I know not what to say,” and Mrs. Stoddard’s usually smiling face was very grave. “Anne is not home yet, but I will question her. You may be sure, Mistress Cary, that I will not let it pass. Her father leaves her in my care when he is away, and perhaps I am too indulgent, for I love the child.”
It was an hour later when Anne came and peered in at the open door. Mrs. Cary had gone home. Mrs. Stoddard looked at the little girl, but not with her usual smile.
“Where is Amanda’s basket?” she asked sharply. “Do not stand there; come in.” Anne obeyed. “Now, tell me why you pushed Amanda down, and slapped her, and ran off with the basket of food? Mrs. Cary has been here and told me all about it. A nice story indeed for me to hear. But like as not it is my fault for indulging you in everything. But I shall be firm now. Go up-stairs and stay until I call you; and as for that visit with Rose Freeman, think no more of it. I shall not let you go. No, indeed, after such a performance as this.”
Anne thought to herself that she must be dreaming. “I shall wake up in a minute,” she said aloud, but Mrs. Stoddard did not hear her.
“Go right up-stairs,” she repeated, and Anne, with a puzzled look over her shoulder, went slowly up the narrow stairs.