The Irish lads grinned sheepishly, and shyly accepted the candy and apples which the trio, with a complete change of heart pressed upon them.
Chicken Little not to be outdone made them all laugh by offering her small fist, which was hopelessly gummed up with the taffy she had forgotten in the excitement.
“Well, Alice,” said Dr. Morton, coming in one noon stamping and shaking the snow off his broad shoulders. “I have discovered why you haven’t heard from Gassett again. He is down with typhoid fever—looks like a bad case. He won’t be in a condition to start lawsuits for some weeks, so you may set your mind at rest for the present.”
The Christmas holidays had gone by all too quickly for the Morton family. The children were already grumbling about starting back to school. Dr. Morton had a number of very sick patients on his hands and looked worried in consequence. Mrs. Morton was helping Alice with her simple wardrobe, and Alice was helping Mrs. Morton break in a new maid.
It was really a great comfort to Mrs. Morton to feel that Alice could now be received as an equal. She had grown fond of her unconsciously, but according to her rigid ideas, friendship with a servant was impossible. “I have always felt,” she told her friends, “that Alice was too refined for her situation. Blood will tell, you know.”
Chicken Little and Ernest mourned Alice’s departure loudly. Ernest turned up his nose promptly at the new girl—a willing soul with scant intelligence.