“Mrs. Bossman’s waist?” I asked, incredulous.
“Mrs. Bossman is holdin’ it there. Sometimes she has to hold real hard.” She chuckled. “It’s odd what some folks don’t know. You can buy the love of a man or a woman—that is if you have their price. But you can’t buy the love of a child nor a dog. I know, for I’m one of a large family, and I was brought up in the country. I know children and I know dogs.”
After lunch the assistant matron claimed my services. And her manner was such that if by chance I had lost my memory I would have been sure that she had a right to dispose of my time. Conducting me to a cottage of which the mother was taking her afternoon off, she left me in charge. It being a rainy day the children were forced to remain indoors. And I was surprised to find them so easily entertained, or, I should say, that they entertained themselves. Those who did not devote the time to their dolls had some quiet game which they played alone or with one or two others.
By and by, noticing how each child seemed trying to crouch within herself, or huddled against her neighbor, I realized they must be cold—it being a chilly afternoon. When I proposed a romping game, something to warm them all up, they exchanged glances and shook their heads. Then one of the older girls, taking her stand close beside my chair, explained:
“We used to play lovely games—blindman’s buff, base, and a lot of others that Mrs. Hoskins taught us, but”—she shrugged her shoulders—“Miss Bossman said we made too much noise, and——”
A little girl seated nearer the door reached over and gave the speaker’s apron a sharp pull, at the same time motioning with her head toward the door. Instantly the child who had been talking to me slipped back to her seat on the floor and picked up her doll. For a moment there was profound silence. Though every one of the little people appeared to be intent on her own play, I felt sure that even the littlest tot was holding her breath.
There was a faint rustle—something on the other side of the closed door had moved. The children exchanged glances but made no sound.
“Wouldn’t you like me to tie your doll’s sash?” I asked the littlest tot.
She was standing by the arm of my chair, her doll’s face downward on my knee, when glancing up I found Miss Pugh entering the door. Of course she was smiling. Women of her type smile even when brushing their teeth.
She explained that when “rushing” by she had dropped in to see how I was getting along. At the word “rush” I again saw the older girls exchange glances—children are not so blind as many of their elders imagine. Being in a rush the assistant matron could remain only a few minutes. The little folks took her going as calmly as they had her entrance.