“Don’t talk to me,” replied Hannah.
“Hannah, I must I’m just stifling.”
“I can’t talk to you now—not now. She’s everywhere, and she has her spies about—all them new servants; they’re hand in glove with her—eating her food and taking her wages.”
“But, Hannah, we eat her food and take her wages.”
“Well, I must confess I thought there was a time when I could put up with it, but if you go I go too. There!”
I clutched her hand. There came a rustling sound of a silk dress up the stairs. No, it was not a silk dress; it was a woollen one of good material, but Mrs Grant had all her dresses lined with silk.
“I hate going,” I had just time to whisper.
“I’ll come to your bedroom to-night, and we’ll talk this thing out,” said Hannah.
But how small I felt myself, condescending to talk even to poor old Hannah about my step-mother!
“Come, dear,” cried the pleasant voice, “are you ready? The carriage is at the door.”