To my amazement, Hannah burst out crying. When she cried I rushed to her and flung my arms round her neck and cried also.
“Oh, I am so glad you won’t leave us!” I said. I felt like a most terrible little martyr, and Hannah’s sympathy soothed me inexpressibly.
That evening—it was Saturday—I told Alex and Charley and Von Marlo about Hannah’s dream.
“Rot, I call it!” said Charley.
“Oh Charley, you are very unkind!”
“Well, I’m sure,” said Charley, “why should she have been so cross and disobliging when we really wanted somebody—when we had no sort of mother? Now that we’re going to have that jolly, fat, round woman to look after us and to see to our comforts, Hannah is beginning to find out what her duties are.”
“Things will work themselves right,” said Von Marlo in his solemn way. “Take my word for it, Rachel, things will shape themselves right.”
I didn’t think Von Marlo half so comforting as Hannah on this occasion, and I almost said so, for I felt very snappish.
That night I scarcely slept at all. To-morrow would find us with that detestable person in the house—“the new mamma.” Of course, she wasn’t my mamma, but the world would speak of her in that manner, just as Von Marlo had once done. He would never say those words to my face again.
I went to church on Sunday morning, accompanied by Alex and Charley. As we were coming back Augusta Moore rushed up to me.