“But, dearie, I don’t want help. I’m quite able to do all the work here. And I never thought I’d like to have a home girl if I did need help.”
The light went out of Una’s eyes. Her lips trembled. She sat down on her stool again, a pathetic little figure of disappointment, and began to cry.
“Don’t—dearie—don’t,” exclaimed Miss Cornelia in distress. She could never bear to hurt a child. “I don’t say I won’t take her—but the idea is so new it has just kerflummuxed me. I must think it over.”
“Mary is so smart,” said Una again.
“Humph! So I’ve heard. I’ve heard she swears, too. Is that true?”
“I’ve never heard her swear exactly,” faltered Una uncomfortably. “But I’m afraid she could.”
“I believe you! Does she always tell the truth?”
“I think she does, except when she’s afraid of a whipping.”
“And yet you want me to take her!”
“Some one has to take her,” sobbed Una. “Some one has to look after her, Mrs. Elliott.”