“I think I am at the head of an orphan asylum with fifteen orphans to look after,” said Mrs. Corder, smiling at her own notion.
Then ascertaining that Eudora required nothing more that evening, she wished her good-night, and withdrew into the lower regions to attend to her own more rightful orphans.
Early the next morning the worthy landlady was stirring. She opened her little shop betimes, placing the red-haired heir of the house of Corder behind the counter to serve the early customers, while she busied herself in the kitchen behind the little back parlor, preparing breakfast for her family.
Eight o’clock arrived, and the morning meal was ready; but Annella had not made her appearance.
“She is oversleeping herself, poor child; so much the better, it will do her a world of good; and I can just keep some coffee and muffins for her against she does wake; so now, children, come, get your breakfasts.”
And so saying, as in that busy household there was no time to wait, the good woman gathered her numerous progeny around the long kitchen table.
When their healthful appetites were well satisfied, the careful mother bustled up, and leaving her eldest daughter, Sally, a good-humored, red-haired lass of sixteen years of age, to clear away the table, she hurried off, up-stairs, to wait upon her lodger.
And it was while Eudora was seated before a delicate morning repast of black tea, buttered toast, and soft-boiled fresh eggs, that the latter inquired:
“How is Annella this morning?”
“I have not seen her yet. She is oversleeping herself, poor child, after all this fatigue and distress, and I hope she will feel the better of it,” said the worthy woman.