“Well, and what if thee shouldn’t? It would be of little consequence compared to helping the poor girl.”
“Really!” replied aunt Betsey, very tartly, “I should like to know!” She commenced sewing again very diligently, without looking up or speaking another word, so aunt Nyna turned away.
“There, I am glad she’s gone!” said aunt Betsey. “Somehow or other I never could bear that woman, with her theeing and thouing.” She tried to settle down to her work and feel as quiet and comfortable as before, but her conscience troubled her sorely.
“Well, if I must, I must,” she said at last, starting up. “I’ll go and bring them home with me, and bear it like a martyr.” She rolled up her bits of satin, drove all her cats out of the room, and then put on her bonnet and shawl.
“It won’t do,” she said, “to go into such a family empty-handed, though where their wants are so many, it seems almost entirely useless to give them anything.”
She gathered together some broken victuals—tied up a bundle of old cast-off garments, and with this under her arm, she set out.
CHAPTER VII.
A FAIR ATTEMPT.