"Well, good reason!" said Nina; "she never did anything for anybody else with a will! She never cared for anybody! Now, I'm selfish; I always knew it. I do a great many selfish things; but it's a different kind from hers. Do you know, Milly, she don't seem to know she is selfish? There she sits, rocking in her old chair, so sure she's going straight to heaven, and don't care whether anybody else gets there or not!"
"Oh laws, now, Miss Nina, you's too hard on her. Why, look how patient she sits with Tomtit, teaching him his hymns and varses."
"And you think that's because she cares anything about him? Do you know she thinks he isn't fit to go to heaven, and that if he dies he'll go to the bad place. And yet, if he was to die to-morrow, she'd talk to you about clear-starching her caps! No wonder the child don't love her! She talks to him just as she does to me; tells him she don't expect anything of him—she knows he'll never come to any good; and the little wretch has got it by heart, now. Do you know that, though I get in a passion with Tom, sometimes, and though I'm sure I should perish sitting boring with him over those old books, yet I really believe I care more for him than she does? And he knows it, too. He sees through her as plain as I do. You'll never make me believe that Aunt Nesbit has got religion. I know there is such a thing as religion; but she hasn't got it. It isn't all being sober, and crackling old stiff religious newspapers, and boring with texts and hymns, that makes people religious. She is just as worldly-minded as I am, only it's in another way. There, now, I wanted her to advise me about something, to-day. Why, Milly, all girls want somebody to talk with; and if she'd only showed the least interest in what I said, she might scold me and lecture me as much as she'd a mind to. But, to have her not even hear me! And when she must have seen that I was troubled and perplexed, and wanted somebody to advise me, she turned round so cool, and began to talk about the onions and the stuffing! Got me so angry! I suppose she is in her room, now, rocking, and thinking what a sinner I am!"
"Well, now, Miss Nina, 'pears though you've talked enough about dat ar; 'pears like it won't make you feel no better."
"Yes it does make me feel better! I had to speak to somebody, Milly, or else I should have burst; and now I wonder where Harry is. He always could find a way for me out of anything."
"He is gone over to see his wife, I think, Miss Nina."
"Oh, too bad! Do sent Tomtit after him, right away. Tell him that I want him to come right home, this very minute—something very particular. And, Milly, you just go and tell Old Hundred to get out the carriage and horses, and I'll go over and drop a note in the post-office, myself. I won't trust it to Tomtit; for I know he'll lose it."
"Miss Nina," said Milly, looking hesitatingly, "I 'spect you don't know how things go about round here; but the fact is, Old Hundred has got so kind of cur'ous, lately, there can't nobody do nothing with him, except Harry. Don't 'tend to do nothing Miss Loo tells him to. I's feared he'll make up some story or other about the horses; but he won't get 'em out—now, mind, I tell you, chile!"
"He won't! I should like to know if he won't, when I tell him to! A pretty story that would be! I'll soon teach him that he has a live mistress—somebody quite different from Aunt Loo!"
"Well, well, chile, perhaps you'd better go. He wouldn't mind me, I know. Maybe he'll do it for you."