“Never mind, I’ve got Miss Hattie’s letter in my bosom, and I’ll tell all about the old cat, and how she opened it, and what she threatened to do to me if I told.”
And this revenge in prospect satisfied poor Jessie better than a good supper would have done.
She could hardly wait to help clear up the table and wash the dishes, so eager was she to get up to Hattie’s room. But the work was done at last, and Jessie, after her usual round of abuse from Biddy Lanigan, was sent off to bed, with orders to be astir before daylight, and ready to go to market.
Now was her chance to see Hattie, for she had to pass Hattie’s room on her way to the miserable closet in the attic loft, where she slept.
A trembling rap on the door of Hattie’s bedroom elicited a response in the sweet, low voice of the bindery girl.
“Come in! Why, Little Jessie, is it you? Come in, dear, I have a nice bit of cake for you that I bought as I was coming home.”
“Dear Miss Hattie, I thank you ever so much, but I’m not hungry, though I haven’t had any supper. I’ve so much to tell you. Here is a letter the postman brought to-day!”
And Jessie took the torn and crumpled letter from its hiding-place in the bosom of her ragged dress.
“Why, Jessie, it has been opened!” exclaimed Hattie, in surprise, and an angry flush overspread her face.
“Yes, Miss Hattie, and I went in and got it where it had been hidden, or you would never have seen it!” said Jessie, “and if I am whipped to death for it, I’ll tell you all about it.”