“Paul has a great deal too much to do, Susan,” said Florence, “I am sure of it.”
“And well you may be, Miss,” returned her maid, “and make your mind quite easy that the willing dear is worked and worked away. If those is Latin legs,” exclaimed Miss Nipper, with strong feeling—in allusion to Paul’s; “give me English ones.”
“I am afraid he feels lonely and lost at Doctor Blimber’s, Susan,” pursued Florence, turning away her face.
“Ah,” said Miss Nipper, with great sharpness, “Oh, them ‘Blimbers’”
“Don’t blame anyone,” said Florence. “It’s a mistake.”
“I say nothing about blame, Miss,” cried Miss Nipper, “for I know that you object, but I may wish, Miss, that the family was set to work to make new roads, and that Miss Blimber went in front and had the pickaxe.”
After this speech, Miss Nipper, who was perfectly serious, wiped her eyes.
“I think I could perhaps give Paul some help, Susan, if I had these books,” said Florence, “and make the coming week a little easier to him. At least I want to try. So buy them for me, dear, and I will never forget how kind it was of you to do it!”
It must have been a harder heart than Susan Nipper’s that could have rejected the little purse Florence held out with these words, or the gentle look of entreaty with which she seconded her petition. Susan put the purse in her pocket without reply, and trotted out at once upon her errand.