“Jennet,” said the smiling girl.
“Well, Jennet, you are the best thing I have yet seen up hither,” announced Barbara cynically.
“Eh, you’ve none seen nought yet!” said Jennet, laughing. “There’s better things here nor me, I’se warrant you.”
“Humph!” returned Barbara meditatively. She doubted it very much.
Jennet paused at a door, and rapped. There was no answer; perhaps her appeal was not heard by those within. She pushed the door a little open, saying to Barbara, “There! you’d best go in, happen.”
So Barbara, putting little Clare before her, went in.
It was a large, square, low room, sweet with the perfume of dried roses. There were four occupants,—two ladies, and two girls. One of the ladies sat with her back to the door, trying to catch the last ray of daylight for her work; the other had dropped asleep. Evidently neither had heard Jennet’s knock.
It was rather an awkward state of things. Little Clare went a few feet into the room, stopped, and looked up at Barbara for direction. At the same moment the elder girl turned her head and saw them.
“Madam!” said Barbara stiffly.
“Aunt Rachel!” (Note 1) said the girl.