“That’s right, dear,” said Becky; “now tumble into bed. I hear Mrs. Preedy opening the street door.”
Fanny flew back to the bedroom, and scrambling into bed, fell asleep with a prayer in her mind that God would bless Becky for ever, and ever, and ever, and send her everything in the world she wanted.
Becky was prepared for her interview with Mrs. Preedy; her plan was already formed. She put the newspapers out of sight, and when Mrs. Preedy entered the kitchen she found Becky busy with her needle.
“Still up, Becky!” exclaimed Mrs. Preedy. “You ought to ’ave been a-bed.”
“I didn’t like to go,” said Becky, “till you came home; I wanted to speak to you about something.”
“What is it?” cried Mrs. Preedy, for ever ready to take alarm. “Nothink’s ’appened in the ’ouse, I ’ope. Mrs. Bailey!”——
“Nothing has happened; it’s about myself I want to speak.”
“I suppose you’re going to give notice,” said Mrs. Preedy, glaring at Becky.
“O, no; I’m satisfied with the place, and I’m sure no servant ever had a kinder missis.” Mrs. Preedy was mollified. “It’s about my legacy and a little cousin of mine.”