This singular outbreak of cupidity astonished me, and half indignantly I expostulated with the girl. But though her cheeks blazed with seeming shame, and her eyes sunk under mine, she persisted in this grave demand. All that she had received, her dear, dear mistress had given out and out—that had nothing to do with wages; there was her bill—four hundred dollars—and she wanted it in gold—hard gold, nothing else.
I went to Jessie with the bill. She did not seem to heed the amount, but was distressed at the idea of parting with her mother's faithful attendant. Hoping that something had gone wrong, and that this was a sudden impulse, she sent for Lottie, in order to expostulate with her; for it seemed like turning a bird, which had become used to its cage, loose upon the world, if we allowed the girl to have her way.
Lottie came in, looking dogged and shy; Jessie held out her hand, with a piteous smile, for she was thinking of her mother.
"Lottie, what have we done that you wish to leave us?"
"Nothing on earth, Miss Jess. I ain't mad at you, nor any one; but yet I want to go down to York and get a place. It's lonesome here."
Jessie's eyes filled with tears. It was indeed very lonesome.
"And will you leave us for that, Lottie?"
The girl was troubled; her color came and went. She was about to burst into tears—but answered still,—
"It's lonesome, and I want to go. Why can't you let me, without all this? I ain't made of cast-iron, nor yet of brass. Please give me my money and let me go."
"But you are so helpless. What will become of you in a great city?" pleaded Jessie.