CHAPTER XVII.
THE SOLDIER'S CARD
"O Fairy! Fairy! is not this grand?"
Maid Sally stood in a little room, so neat, so prettily furnished, that it was to her like waking up and finding one of her pleasant dreams come true.
A cot with a real feather bed was in one corner, a small chest of drawers with a mirror on it, a mirror in a square frame screwed into a little stand, so she could bring it forward or push it back, was at one side of the room; a small wooden rocking-chair stood by the window, and a pretty painted wash-stand, with bowl and pitcher, a soap-dish, and a saucer for brushes, was opposite the bed.
Sally looked with pleasure on the simple yet convenient things that she never had had the use of before. Then she said:
"I feel as though these things fitted me. Yes, and even finer ones might, too. Why is it I have such feelings always rising within me whenever I look upon what is fine and would seem far above me?"
"I cannot tell you," said her Fairy.
"Did you notice," asked Sally, "what slipped from Mistress Cory Ann's tongue? how she asked was I sure of being an American?"
"I noticed, surely," said the Fairy, "but many a vain and useless thing will slip from the tongue of an angry woman. I think she meant but to taunt you."
"Yet I wonder what she may know."