“The wretch,” said Mary, energetically.
“I’ll never go and live with Crisp again if I can find any other place; would you, lady?”
“No,” Mary answered, thinking how odd and gypsy-like the expression sounded.
In the morning, Mary, after much persuasion, obtained 34 Zula’s consent to let Mrs. Platts know her story.
“She must have a home somewhere,” she said, “but for the present let her remain with us.”
So it was decided that Zula should stay. A seamstress was hired and a neat outfit of clothing made for Zula, who when she was dressed and her luxuriant hair braided and tied with bright ribbons, the change was so great that Mrs. Platts remarked that she really thought she was pretty, but when she first came she thought she was as black as a gypsy.
“Have you never been to school?”
“No—no, sir; we don’t go to school.”
“Did you not know it was wrong to steal?”
“No, sir; nobody ever told me it was wrong—nobody but one lady, and she was—oh, so sweet.”