And Mrs. Kelsey told her--and from the very beginning. When the telling was over, and the little woman, a bit breathless and frightened, sat awaiting what Alma would say, there came a long silence.
Alma’s lips were close shut. Alma was not quite sure, if she opened them, whether there would come a laugh or a sob. The laugh was uppermost and almost parted the firm-set lips, when a side glance at the quivering face of the little woman in the big chair turned the laugh into a half-stifled sob. Then Alma spoke.
“Mother, dear, listen. Do you think a silk dress and a stiff collar can make you and father any dearer to me? Do you think an ‘ain’t’ or a ‘hain’t’ can make me love either of you any less? Do you suppose I expect you, after fifty years’ service for others, to be as careful in your ways and words as if you’d spent those fifty years in training yourself instead of in training six children? Why, mother, dear, do you suppose that I don’t know that for twenty of those years you have had no thoughts, no prayers, save for me?--that I have been the very apple of your eye? Well, it’s my turn, now, and you are the apple of my eye--you and father. Why, dearie, you have no idea of the plans I have for you. There’s a good strong woman coming next week for the kitchen work. Oh, it’s all right,” assured Alma, quickly, in response to the look on her mother’s face. “Why, I’m rich! Only think of those orders! And then you shall dress in silk or velvet, or calico--anything you like, so long as it doesn’t scratch nor prick,” she added merrily, bending forward and fastening the lace collar. “And you shall----”
“Ma-ry?” It was Nathan at the foot of the back stairway.
“Yes, Nathan.”
“Ain’t it ’most supper-time?”
“Bless my soul!” cried Mrs. Kelsey, springing to her feet.
“An’, Mary----”
“Yes.”
“Hain’t I got a collar--a b’iled one, on the bureau up there?”