“No,” said Mahala, “it does not. You did come, and you were kindness itself. But you happen to be the one woman in town from whose hands I could not accept kindness.”
“It seems to me,” said Mrs. Moreland, “that you’re not quite as big and as fine as I always have thought you if you allow anything that has happened to keep you from doing what you can to save a life. I’m sorry if you feel you have reason to blame Mr. Moreland or me for anything that happened concerning your father’s loss of his property. Certainly, you can’t feel that Edith had anything to do with it. She was your friend, and you were hers; and now she is ill and asking for you—such a little favour that you could so well grant—and you refuse. Mahala, I am surprised at you!”
It was on Mahala’s lips to tell Mrs. Moreland that she was quite welcome to be surprised or the reverse. That pride that had caused her father’s downfall was a lively part of her inheritance from him. It touched her pride that she should be accused of failing a friend when she was ill. Possibly it was her part to teach Edith the better way.
“If you put it in that light,” she said, “I’ll ask Mother. If she thinks she can spare me, I will come.”
She stepped to the bedroom and found her mother soundly sleeping. Upon her relaxed face there was a look of quiet and peace that was not present when her mental processes were working. Mahala imagined that she was better. She went out and explained the situation to Jemima.
“You go straight ahead,” said Jemima. “Go and do what they want, and then soak it to them good and proper. Make ’em pay fully three times what you would anybody else.”
Mahala gathered up her workbag, the implements she was accustomed to handling in her trade, and climbing into the carriage, was driven to the Moreland residence.
Her first day’s work progressed finely. She was given exquisite material that had been clumsily made to alter. With touches here and there Mahala could transform a dress into a garment expressing the height of the prevailing mode. The instincts of the artist awoke in her and she began her work with enthusiasm and growing confidence. Junior and his father did not appear. Edith was so ill that she only spoke to her when it was necessary to find out what she wanted done, and how she wanted it. When she left at night she took several hats with her to remodel. Until past midnight she was bending over them, changing, altering, then adding touches to heighten their attractiveness. When Edith sat up long enough to try them on in the morning, she was effusive in her gratitude.
An effort was being made to have her ready to leave on the noon train. She sat on a chair before the mirror where she could study the effect of the hats she tried on. Mahala was standing beside her fitting one upon which she was working, when Junior entered the room. He brought himself into immediate proximity with Mahala. He kissed Edith and made a great display of affection for her. He told her that his mother had finished packing her trunks and that everything would be ready for them to start on the noon train. He dropped into her lap, for safekeeping, a pocket book which he told her contained the money for their journey and also the money to pay Mahala when she had completed her work. He explained that he would be forced to return to the bank on some business matters that he must finish before they started.
Edith picked up the pocket book and returned it to him. She said: “Put it on the table in the parlour beside the coat that is laid out for me to wear.”