Hannah coughed and uptilted her chin.
"They ain't two, ma'am. There's as much as half a dozen of 'em."
"What!"
"There is, ma'am."
"Why, Hannah, what—" The lady tore open the note with shaking fingers, and read:
My dear Madam: You very generously asked for ten children, but I hope you will pardon me for sending only five. That is all we have with us now, owing to several recent adoptions from our ranks—you know we are never very large, being only a branch of the Hollingsworth Asylum. The children were so crazy, though, at the idea of a trip to the country, that I am sure each child will have fun enough—and make noise enough, also, I fear—for two, so in the end you may think you've got your ten children, after all. You must be fond of children to be willing to give so many a two-weeks' vacation, but you don't know what a lot of good you are doing. If you could have seen the children when I read them your note, you would have been well repaid for all your trouble. I wish there were more like you in the world. Yours respectfully,
AMANDA HIGGINS.
"Hannah," faltered Mrs. Wentworth, dropping into her chair, "they did n't read my note right. They—they've actually sent us the whole asylum!"
"Well, it looks like it—downstairs," returned Hannah grimly.
"Sure enough, they are downstairs, and I must go to them," murmured
Mrs. Wentworth, rising irresolutely to her feet. "I—I 'll go down.
I'll have to send all but two home, of course," she finished, as she
left the room.