“I'll help you,” said Mary, who was greatly excited at the thought of a governess. “We'll do them together.”
“No we won't,” said Jeremy, who hated to be dependent.
“I'll learn it myself—if only the paper didn't get dirty so quickly.”
“Mother says,” remarked Helen, “that she's had a very hard life, and no one's ever been kind to her. 'She wants affection,' Mother says.”
“I'll give her my napkin-ring that you gave me last Christmas, Mary,” said Jeremy. “You don't mind, do you? It's all dirty now. I hope Hamlet won't bark at her.”
Hamlet was worrying Mary's pincushion at the moment, holding it between his paws, his body stretched out in quivering excitement, his short, “snappy” tail, as Uncle Samuel called it, standing up straight in air. He stopped for an instant when he heard his name, and shook one ear.
“Mother says,” continued Helen, “that she lived with a brother who never gave her enough to eat.”
Jeremy opened his eyes. This seemed to him a horrible thing.
“She shall have my porridge, if she likes,” he said; “I don't like it very much. And I'll give her that chocolate that Mr. Jellybrand sent us. There's still some, although it's rather damp now, I expect.”
“How silly you are!” said Helen scornfully. “Of course, Mother will give her anything she wants.”