A smile crossed Helen's lips and stayed there, softening her face wonderfully.
They shouted out their good-bys, and asked their mother a dozen questions, receiving about as many slaps in return. For the remainder of the day, Mrs. Jason was undeniably cross.
"That girl'll turn out just like her father," she said to Jenny. "She hasn't a bit of gratitude."
"And I hope the old woman will be as queer as they make them," returned Jenny with a laugh.
In the few years of her life, Helen had never been visiting, to stay away over night. This was like some of the stories she had read and envied the heroine. There was a small alcove off Mrs. Dayton's room, with a curtain stretched across. For now the house was really full, except one guest chamber. There was a closet for her clothes just off the end of the short hall, that led to the back stairs, which ran down to the kitchen, a spacious orderly kitchen, good enough to live in altogether, Helen thought.
She helped to take the dishes out to Joanna, and begged to wipe them for her.
"If you're not heavy handed," said Joanna, a little doubtful.
"Or butter-fingered," laughed Helen. "That's what we say at home. But these dishes are so lovely that it is like—well it's like reading verses after some heavy prose."
"I'm not much on verses," replied Joanna, watching her new help warily. She did work with a dainty kind of touch.
Mrs. Dayton came, and stood looking at them with a humorous sort of smile.