“No, I am but one maid. But I would fain be acquaint with that child. What said you were her name? All seems strange unto me, dwelling so long with Grandmother; I have to make acquaintance with all the folks when I return back home.”
“Christabel Hall is her name; she is daughter to Roger Hall, the manager at our works, and he and she dwell alone; she hath no mother.”
“No mother, hath she?—and very like none to mother her. Ah, now I conceive her looks.”
“I marvel what you would be at, Pandora. Why, you and I have no mother, but I never mewled and moaned thereafter.”
“No, Gertrude, I think you never did.”
“Aunt Grena hath seen to all we lacked, hath not she?”
“Aunt is very kind, and I cast no doubt she hath seen to all you lacked.” Pandora’s tone was very quiet, with a faint pathos in it.
“Why, Dorrie, what lacked you that I did not?” responded Gertrude, turning her laughing face towards her sister.
“Nothing that I could tell you, True. What manner of man is this Roger Hall?”
“A right praisable man, Father saith, if it were not for one disorder in him, that he would fain see amended: and so being, Dorrie, I scarce think he shall be a-paid to have you much acquaint with his little maid, sithence he hath very like infected her with his foolish opinions.”