"I may want you to sew some, occasionally, when the baby is asleep.
Can you hem and stitch neatly?"
"I believe I sew very well, madam—our matron says so."
"What is your name? Miss White told me, but I have forgotten it."
"Beulah Benton."
"Well, Beulah, I think you will suit me very well, if you are only careful and attend to my directions. I am just going out shopping, but you can come upstairs and take charge of Johnny. Where are your clothes?"
"Our matron will send them to-day."
Beulah followed Mrs. Martin up the steps, somewhat reassured by her kind reception. The room was in utter confusion, the toilet-table covered with powder, hairpins, bows of different colored ribbon, and various bits of jewelry; the hearth unswept, the workstand groaning beneath the superincumbent mass of sewing, finished and unfinished garments, working materials, and, to crown the whole, the lady's winter hat. A girl, apparently about thirteen years of age, was seated by the fire, busily embroidering a lamp-mat; another, some six years younger, was dressing a doll; while an infant, five or six months old, crawled about the carpet, eagerly picking up pins, needles, and every other objectionable article his little purple fingers could grasp.
"Take him, Beulah," said the mother.
She stooped to comply, and was surprised that the little fellow testified no fear of her. She raised him in her arms, and kissed his rosy cheeks, as he looked wonderingly at her.
"Ma, is that Johnny's new nurse? What is her name?" said the youngest girl, laying down her doll and carefully surveying the stranger.