“No,” said Bessie, “and I’ve discovered why, too. She hasn’t read them.”
Thaddeus was silent for a minute. Then he said, quite firmly for him, “She must read them.”
“Must is a strong word, Teddy,” Bessie replied, “particularly since Ellen can’t read.”
“Then you ought to read them to her.”
“That’s what I think,” Bessie answered, amiably. “I’m going to do it very soon—day after to-morrow, I guess.”
“What has Jane said?” asked Thaddeus, biting his lip.
Bessie colored. Jane had expressed herself with considerable force, and Bessie had been a little afraid to tell Thaddeus what she had said and done.
“Oh, nothing much,” she answered. “She—she said she’d never worn caps like a common servant, and wasn’t going to begin now; and then she didn’t like having to clean the silver on Saturday afternoons, because the silver-powder got into her finger-nails; and that really is too bad, Teddy, because Saturday night is the night her friends come to call, and silver-powder is awfully hard to get out of your nails, you know; and, of course, a girl wants to appear neat and clean when she has callers.”
“Of course,” said Thaddeus. “And I judge by the appearance of the brass fenders that she doesn’t like to polish them up on Wednesday because it gives her a backache on Thursday, which is her day out.”
Bessie’s eyes took on their watery aspect again.