A deep sigh welled up from Henrietta’s chest. “Am I going to sure-enough keep ’em to wear Sundays?” she asked.
“If Mrs. Foley will let you,” said the politic Jessie. “You can keep them very carefully. It is really wonderful how well they fit.”
“Sure,” sighed Mrs. Foley, “she’s better dressed than me own children.”
“But you told us your children were all boys,” Amy put in quickly.
“Aw, but a time like this I wish’t I had a daughter,” declared the woman, gazing at Henrietta almost tenderly. “What a sweet little colleen she might be if she had some flesh on her bones and something besides freckles to color her face. Yes, yes!”
“I am awfully glad, Mrs. Foley,” said Jessie quickly, “to see how much you approve of what we have tried to do for Henrietta. So I am bold enough to ask you to let us take her up to my house for over night. Momsy wants to see her in these new clothes, and––”
“Well, if Mrs. Momsy—Or is it Mr. Momsy, I dunno?”
“Why, Momsy is my mother!”
“The like o’ that now! And she lets you call her out o’ name? Well, there is no understanding you rich folks. Ha! So you want to take little Hen away from me?” 181
“Only for over night. It would be a little vacation for her, you know.”