“No matter for laughing. Do you know what she made Mrs. Pangborn pay her for ‘me keep’, as she called it?”
“No.”
“Twenty dollars—think of it? She’s a terrible miser—and that poor little thing isn’t half fed.”
“The poor kid!” agreed Tavia, whose warm heart was touched by the story Dorothy told her.
“She wanted to come with us so badly,” sighed Dorothy. “But Mrs. Hogan made her stay and keep up the fire, and watch to see if the hens laid any eggs. They bring ’em right in from the nests for fear they will freeze,” explained Dorothy.
“I really believe, Tavia, if that little thing hadn’t been out gathering eggs Saturday evening, I would have laid down in the snow and died!”
“Oh, Doro! How dreadful!”
“I was ‘all in’, as Ned and Nat would say. Just at the last gasp when Celia heard me crying for help.”
“I’d like to hug her for that,” cried Tavia, her eyes shining.
“And so, I must find her brother if I can,” continued Dorothy, not very lucidly, it must be confessed. But Tavia had gained a general idea of the matter now and she said: