“No. To go to her house, so the footman said,” explained the maid. “Mrs. Severn isn’t in the carriage.”
“But who is she?” repeated Beth Baldwin.
“Just the oddest person you ever saw,” Molly cried. “You must go, Beth.”
“But, why?”
“She’s got something for you to do, of course,” Molly said. “And depend upon it, it will be work that pays well. They say Mrs. Severn’s house is just crowded with beautiful things. She’s heard of you through Mrs. Pepper—you know, the woman who brought you the baby’s lace dress to mend that the puppy tried to eat up.”
“Query: Did the puppy try to eat up the dress, the baby, or Mrs. Pepper?” demanded Beth, solemnly.
“Never mind splitting scholastic hairs,” cried Molly. “You must go!” and she hurried Beth into her coat and tam-o-shanter.
When Beth saw the old-fashioned carriage, she laughed to herself. It was queer. But she noted that the upholstering of the carriage was very elegant, indeed, and that the vehicle swung on behind the fat horses in a very easy fashion.
She was solemnly deposited at the big stone house on the Boulevard within a short space of time. The big footman presented her at the front door where a second footman, in still more gorgeous livery, passed her into the house and up the first flight of stairs.
Here a maid received Beth, looked her over carefully as though she feared the girl might have dynamite concealed about her person, and doubtfully announced her as “Miz Baldwig.”