And she plunged at once into a deep calculation as to the probable amount of her means—so deep that she did not notice how far she had gone, till she heard her name sharply called. And looking up, saw her aunt's face at the open window of her own house.
"Come in, Ethel," repeated her aunt more sharply than before. "I want to speak to you."
It was with no very pleasant feelings that Ethel mounted the steps. She divined at once that Aunt Sally had heard of her employment, and meant to call her to account for it. She entered the parlor with her bundle under her arm, and found herself face to face with her aunt, before she had exactly made up her mind what to say.
"Good afternoon to you, Miss Fletcher," said her aunt, making her grandest courtesy. "What is that bundle you have under your arm?"
"Pictures, Aunt Sally," said Ethel, her eyes sparkling rather mischievously. "Would you like to look at them? They are very pretty."
And before Mrs. Bertie, who was somewhat taken aback, could reply, she had opened her bundle and displayed her treasures, descanting upon their beauties, and calling her aunt's attention to the fact that the dog in old Mother Hubbard exactly resembled Mrs. Bertie's dog Fido.
Mrs. Bertie did not exactly know what to do next, for like a skilful general, Ethel had foiled her tactics by marching out of her intrenchments, and attacking, instead of waiting to be assaulted. However, she did not mean to give it up so easily, so she tried another way.
"What are you going to do with all these pictures?" she asked.
"I am going to paint them, aunt. Then Y shall give them back to Mr. Beckford, and he will pay me the money for them. I have earned fifty-five cents already."
"Umph!" said her aunt, drily. "What are you going to do with so much money?"