“Bertha! Bertha Haney! Don’t you hear me? I got a new dress! And we’ve come to take you home. Bertha!”
Suddenly the lower door of the tower opened a crack. An old, old woman, and not at all a pleasant looking woman, appeared at the crack.
“What you want?” she demanded. “Go ’way! Martha Poole didn’t send you here.”
Jessie spoke up briskly. “We’ve come to see Bertha. This is her little cousin. You won’t refuse to let her see Bertha, will you?”
“There ain’t nobody here but a sick girl. She ain’t to be let out. She ain’t right in her head.”
“I guess that is what is the matter with you,” said Darry Drew, sternly. He had come nearer, and now, before the woman could shut the door, he thrust his foot between it and the jamb. “We’re going to see Bertha Blair. Out of the way!”
He thrust back the door and the old woman with it. They heard a muffled voice calling from upstairs. Little Henrietta flashed by the guardian of the tower and darted upstairs.
“Bertha! Bertha! I’m coming, Bertha! I got a new dress!”
“You better go up and see what’s doing, Jess,” said Darry. “I’ll hold this woman down here.”
Jessie was giggling, although it was from nervousness.