"I think father would prefer to call you by your first name," Janice said, trying not to show her surprise and amusement. "We will call you Delia if that pleases you."
"You're a real nice little girl, I can see that," said Delia, with a huge sigh of satisfaction, following Janice, bag and all, into the house.
Janice led the way up the back stairs to the girl's room. It was just as Olga had left it—as untidy and "mussed up" as ever a room was.
Delia uttered a high, nasal ejaculation. "I guess your last girl wasn't very clean," she said. "Who was she?"
"She was a Swede," Janice replied wearily.
"Heh! Them Swedes!" sniffed Delia, voicing a pronounced national prejudice.
"She left in a hurry," Janice explained. "She—she got mad. One of the neighbor's boys played a trick on her and she left."
"Ye don't be tellin' me? Couldn't she spank the boy? Sure, 'tis no sinse them foreigners has."
"I hope you will not take offense so easily," Janice rejoined. "Here is clean linen for your bed. We send the flat work to the laundry. There is a broom and carpet sweeper in the storeroom, and plenty of dust cloths. You would better put your own room in order first. Then you can come down and I will show you about getting dinner."
"Sure, you is very young to be so knowin' about housework. Is your mother dead?"