“No.”
“What a comfort. I’ll put any baby pins and such right—where should I put them?”
“You won’t be apt to find any,” said Gloria, wondering what next Maggie might hint for.
“Well, I’m honest as the sun, Miss Alton says, and what’s on the floor goes on the bureau, every time.” The basket and contents were inadvertently tipped over just then, and Maggie dove after the things that flew.
“There, ain’t that a pretty waist? Miss Davis, she’s the rich girl that has number ten, she’s been here, land know how long, and I asked her yesterday if this was her last year and she didn’t know. She’s the loveliest girl, and so good-natured. I jest said I loved blue and she gave me the waist. I think it’ll fit me.” It was held aloft midway between chin and waistline, and Gloria said it looked all right.
Then she escaped.
And Maggie ostensibly swept the room, aired the pillows and shook the curtains. Trixy’s room had an unusually large mirror hung from the wall, between two windows, and whether Maggie posed in borrowed finery or merely spent time in profitable meditation, is not relevant, for it was her own time as well as her own work, and Maggie managed to finish on schedule in spite of all interruptions.
When Gloria ventured back, after first peeking in from behind Trixy’s curtains, she found things nicely slicked up.
“Good old Maggie!” she thought. “I am sure she is quite as honest as she claims to be.”
Addressing the well dusted bureau with a few more appropriate remarks, Gloria’s gaze fell upon a strange object.