“Like it! She got mad an’ gave notice on the spot. An’ that made ma ’most have hysterics—she did have one of her headaches—’cause good hired girls are awful scarce, she says. But Bess says, Pooh! we’ll get some from the city next time that know their business, an’ we’re goin’ away all summer, anyway, an’ won’t ma please call them ‘maids,’ as she ought to, an’ not that plebeian ‘hired girl.’ Bess loves that word. Everything’s ‘plebeian’ with Bess now. Oh we’re havin’ great times at our house since Bess—elizabeth—came!” grinned Benny, tossing his cap in the air, and dancing down the walk much as he had danced the first night Mr. Smith saw him a year before.
The James Blaisdells were hardly off to shore and camp when Miss Flora started on her travels. Mr. Smith learned all about her plans, too, for she came down one day to talk them over with Miss Maggie.
Miss Flora was looking very well in a soft gray and white summer silk. Her forehead had lost its lines of care, and her eyes were no longer peering for wrinkles. Miss Flora was actually almost pretty.
“How nice you look!” exclaimed Miss Maggie.
“Do I?” panted Miss Flora, as she fluttered up the steps and sank into one of the porch chairs.
“Indeed, you do!” exclaimed Mr. Smith admiringly. Mr. Smith was putting up a trellis for Miss Maggie’s new rosebush. He was working faithfully, but not with the skill of accustomedness.
“I’m so glad you like it!” Miss Flora settled back into her chair and smoothed out the ruffles across her lap. “It isn’t too gay, is it? You know the six months are more than up now.”
“Not a bit!” exclaimed Mr. Smith.
“No, indeed!” cried Miss Maggie.
“I hoped it wasn’t,” sighed Miss Flora happily. “Well, I’m all packed but my dresses.”