“Oh! isn’t it just like a storybook? And my grandmother looks like pictures of queens. She makes me think of the cleanest things I ever saw. Did you notice?”
“Be eyes for me, little one, and tell me just what you saw. Her face, is it wrinkled? Is her hair gray? Did she wear glasses?”
“Her face is white,—whiter than anybody’s I ever saw, ’cept Irish Kate’s little baby’s. And her hair is like that pretty snow out there, all round little rolls each side her eyes; and she has some soft white stuff on her head, and more around her neck and her wrists. Her dress is black silk, and—I love her!”
“I’m glad—very glad of that!” exclaimed Mr. Calthorp, earnestly. The power of Steenie’s love he believed to be irresistible.
“But isn’t Mr. Tubbs funny? He makes me think of raisin grapes that haven’t dried right. And he wears his spectacles up on the bald part of his head; and he looks lots older ’n Sutro. How old is he, Papa?”
“Maybe seventy; I don’t know exactly. Now, can you make yourself tidy alone? There are no young women servants in this old house, and you must do everything you can for yourself. But I will help you with your hair if it bothers you, as I did, or tried to do, on the train.”
However, he was saved this trouble; for at that moment came a knock upon the door of the little room assigned to Steenie, and, at her swift opening of it, an old lady entered.
At least Steenie called her “lady,” and was amazed when this prim person, in the black alpaca gown and wearing spectacles, remarked: “Madam sent me to wash and dress you. Come here!”
“But—I—I can do it for myself. I’d rather. I’m very soiled; the car was so dusty And you look so clean! Everybody is so ter’ble clean here!”
“Hoity-toity! Come. I’ve no time ter waste.”