“Then tomorrow morning I’m going to let that little woman that lives in the cellar under Aunt Sally’s room, bring her sewing here and work all day. She makes buttonholes in vests. It’s so dark in her room she can’t see and she’s almost ruined her eyes working by candle light.”
“She’ll mess it all up!” grumbled Sam; “an’ she might let other folks in an’ they’d pinch the picters an’ the posy.”
“No, she won’t do that. I’ve talked to her about it. The room is to be hers for the day, and she’s to keep it looking just as nice as it did when she found it. She’ll only bring her work over, and go home for her dinner. She’s to keep the fire going so it will be warm at night, and she’s to try it for a day and see how it goes. I think she’ll keep her promise. We’ll try her anyway.”
Sam nodded as to a superior officer who nevertheless was awfully foolish.
“Mebbe!” he said.
“Sam, do you think it would be nice to bring Aunt Sally over now a few minutes?”
“No,” said Sam shortly, “she’s too dirty. She’d put her fingers on de wall first thing—”
“But Sam, I think she ought to come. And she ought to come first. She’s the one that helped me find you—”
Sam looked sharply at Michael and wondered if he suspected how long that same Aunt Sally had frustrated his efforts to find his friends.
“We could tell her not to touch things, perhaps—”