“Do you like them?” she murmured.
Keturah chuckled faintly. “They’re fine,” she said. “I’ve got ’em all on. I don’t never feel cold now.”
“And,” continued Miss Unity, “this other young lady, whom I think you saw once at Mrs Margetts’, has been kind enough to think of bringing you some nice warm boots and stockings.”
She looked at Nancy as she spoke, but for once Nancy remained in the background, clutching her parcel and staring at Kettles over Pennie’s shoulder. The old Kettles, who had been in her mind all this time, was gone, and Keturah, clean, tidy, and proper, stood in her place. It was too surprising a change to be understood in a moment, and Nancy was not at all sure that she liked it.
Kettles was silent when the parcel was at length opened and presented, perhaps with excess of joy.
“Well I never!” said Betty, advancing to examine the gift. “Keturah’s in luck I will say. Dear, dear, what nice stout boots, to be sure! Well, now,” with a nudge to the silent figure, “she’ll do her best to deserve such kindness, I know. Haven’t you got a word to say to the dear young ladies?”
But Keturah could not be made to speak a word. She dropped her little curtsy, and stood as if turned to stone, clasping the boots and stockings to her chest.
“She ain’t tongue-tied; not as a rule,” said Betty apologetically to the children; “but she hasn’t been much used to presents, and it’s a little too much for her.”
“I think,” said Miss Unity coming to the rescue, “that we must have our tea now, Betty, or the young ladies will have no time—and Keturah can go and try on her new boots and stockings.”
“They’re my size,” said Nancy, speaking for the first time since Keturah’s appearance. “I think they’ll be sure to fit.”